


England is All

by fineandwittie



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate ending of Season 2, Battle, Beamfleot, Bebbenburg, Begging, Bernicia, Coccham, Deception, Disguise, Dunholm, Emotional Infidelity, England - Freeform, Eoferwic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Gender Issues, Infidelity, M/M, Political Alliances, Politics, Religion, Revenge, Saxon - Freeform, Sort Of, War, Wessex - Freeform, again but not really, but could maybe be read as slash, but not really, dane - Freeform, i ship them so hard i can't really tell anything any more, implied polyamory, like the official tag of this fic is but not really, mercia, mild implied homophobia, northumbria, the witan, this is gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: Uhtred went to Alfred with the request that Aethelflaed and Erik made of him at Beamfleot. Alfred makes plans.
Relationships: Alfred the Great & Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Alfred the Great/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and unproofread.
> 
> This is getting out of control, but here we are. I've got several chapters on deck to post, so it's possible this will get updated every other day for a bit. I have also edited some already posted chapters a bit, took out some typos. 
> 
> I'd love suggestions or critiques.

“Lord, I would speak with you privately.” Uhtred said, pointedly not turning to look at either Aethelred or Pyrlig.

He met Alfred’s eyes steadily, hoping that the man would see the desperation in his own. The distant look in Alfred’s eyes disappeared and he frowned.

For a long moment, the two looked at each other, but Alfred nodded. “Leave us. All of you.”

“Lord, I hardly—“ Aethelred stepped forward, but Alfred cut him a sharp look and he froze.

“There are many things that you hardly are and hardly do, Aethelred. I do not care for any of them. Leave us.” Alfred’s voice was sharp as knifes and crackled with anger.

Uhtred waited as the hall cleared, before stepping forward. “Lord, perhaps there is somewhere where we will not be overheard?”

Alfred raised a single eyebrow, but nodded again. “Indeed.” 

He stood and led Uhtred through the doors behind the throne. They wound their way through the palace to Alfred’s private rooms, a place that Uhtred had never been before. There was an antechamber and a bedroom beyond. Alfred locked the antechamber door and led Uhtred through to the bedroom before locking that door as well.

“Is this suitably private, Uhtred?”

Uhtred huffed a breath that wanted to be a laugh, though he did not feel mirthful. “Yes, Lord. I think so.”

“Well?” Alfred said, crossing to look out the window.

“Lord, I spoke privately with Aethelflaed. She asked me…she pressed me for a favor that she knew you would not condone, but to which she knew I would agree.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed and he turned to face Uhtred. “And what favor might this be?” Alfred’s voice was tight and angry.

Uhtred sighed. “Must you always think the worst of me? I am telling you, aren’t I?” He clenched his jaw and took a breath. “She claims that she has fallen in love with Erik. I know that Erik has come to care for her. The manner in which he humiliated Aethelred made it fairly obvious, but I also pressed him on it. Aethelflaed told me that they are in love and that they wish to flee together. That would solve the issue of the ransom and the army that it would raise against Wessex. If she is not there to be ransomed and if Erik is not there to lead men, the force at Beamfleot will begin to scatter.”

Alfred’s lips parted on a shocked exhaled. “She…He is a pagan!”

Uhtred snorted. “I did point that out to her, Lord. I explained or tried to all the ways that it would not work. That they would not succeed. How dangerous it would be. But she is your daughter, Lord. She is headstrong and stubborn. She is determined to go through with what she sees as the best option for Wessex. For England.”

Alfred began to pace, his hands ringing against his stomach. He looked frantic. Uhtred felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had never seen the king so out of control before and it was not a sight he’d like to see again.

“And you agreed? No. Of course, you agreed. You are Uhtred. She knew that you would.” 

Abruptly, Alfred stopped. Stopped pacing, stopped fidgeting. Perhaps, stopped breathing. Uhtred could no longer see the rise and fall of his chest.

There was a long moment of stillness where Uhtred’s concern bubbled ever higher in his guts, before Alfred exhaled, long and loudly. “She is right.”

Uhtred took an involuntary step backward, his back ending up pressed against the wall, in his astonishment. “What?”

“No, she is right. That is the perfect solution.” Alfred’s eyes were wide and bright, as he stared blankly at the wall.

“But for the small fact that she is married to the lord of Mercia, Lord.”

Alfred turned those eyes on Uhtred, stealing Uhtred’s breath. “What does that matter? If she is safe, if she is far from harm and no money is exchanged. If no lives are lost on this, what does it matter that she is married? We will have it quietly dissolved. Leaving Aethelred to marry again. She will be ‘lost’ to us, but if she is happy and she is safe, then I do not care. She will not be humiliated. The only one effected by it will be the lord of Mercia, who is weak and foolish and too much in the thrall of that whispering man of his.”

Uhtred couldn’t seem to grasp what Alfred was saying. It seemed insane. “Lord…Alfred, he is a pagan. She would be fleeing with a pagan and a Dane. She would no doubt marry him and give him children. If you can barely allow me to wield a sword for you, when you’ve known me for more than a decade, how will you be content to allow your daughter to wed and bed one?”

Alfred’s mouth spread into a smile that made Uhtred want to step further back, though there was nowhere for him to go. “What care I who she beds, if she is safe and healthy and well? If it is voluntary? As you say, how badly Erik treated Aethelred seems to suggest that Aethelred has treated her badly in turn.”

Uhtred nodded, feeling dazed. “I would say the same, Lord. But…where would they go?”

“That is the only complication, as far as I can see.” 

Uhtred stared. “The only…Lord—“

“But, perhaps, you and I could…arrange something that would satisfy us both.” Alfred tilted his head, the manic gleam not faded.

Uhtred was sure that at any moment he would awaken, for dreaming seemed to be the only explanation for the strangeness of Alfred’s manner. “Lord, I do not understand.”

Alfred’s mouth curled into a smile. “No. Of course. Uhtred, what is it that you want most in this life?”

He was reluctant to answer. It felt like a trap or a trick. But Alfred waited, did not fill the silence. So Uhtred offered, “Bebbenburg, Lord?”

Alfred nodded graciously. “Exactly. Now, Bebbenburg is a fortress, is it not? A Christian woman and her pagan husband might be safe within its walls, no matter who might come for them.”

Uhtred’s back went rigid as he straightened from his slouch. His skin tingled and the dazed cloud of confusion that had soaked his thoughts cleared. “You wish me to help Aethelflaed escape Beamfleot and then to take Bebbenburg in order to give her a place to hide? Lord, I do not have the men for that. As you say, it is a fortress.”

Alfred waved him off. “You do not. But I do. They could not wear Wessex colors, but you shall have enough to reclaim your home. No one can know that that is where she has fled, not for months at least. They cannot connect this back to me.”

“But, Alfred, what of Mercia? Surely, they will not allow their lady to be stolen by the Danes?” Uhtred knew he was grasping, knew that there were details and pitfalls to this plan at every turn, but could not quite reach them all himself. Normally that would be Alfred’s part, but Alfred seemed to have taken leave of his sense.

“You have said so yourself. Merica is disorganized and weak. Their lady’s abduction will not make that better. Will in fact make it worse. In all likelihood, Aethelflaed’s abduction would weaken Mercia further, which would put Wessex in a better position to either take it entirely or place someone sympathetic into a position of power. I am not worried about Mercia. I am worried about Daneland and I am worried about bankrupting Wessex. I am worried about my daughter.”

“And your wife? Queen Aelswith? What would she say to this?” Uhtred’s last chance to talk the man out of his insanity, his last card to play, and he was by no means certain of it. 

Uhtred had a feeling that he would be sailing to Beamfleot to smuggle the Wessex princess and her clandestine lover out of harm.

“Aelswith…will not know of it. She will find out like everyone else. She did not approve of what we did to save Edward and no doubt she will not approve of this either. It does not matter.” Alfred nodded once, decisive, and the madness eased from his eyes, leaving them warm. “Are you finished arguing against this?”

Uhtred blinked, and then again, and shook his head. “I have no more arguments against it, other than that it is madness. Which I told Aethelflaed.”

A small, private smile curled the corner of Alfred’s mouth softly. “Why madness? Weren’t you yourself married to a Christian?”

Uhtred gave him a pointed looked. “Yes. And that has turned out so well. My son dead and my wife in a nunnery. Even so, there is a difference there, Lord.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow in question and Uhtred sighed. “I was baptized. Twice in fact. I was familiar with the beliefs and the practices. Until I was taken by the Danes, I was raised Christian. My stepmother was a very pious woman who insisted. Father Beocca tried…very hard to teach me, though I did not wish to learn. That is not the same as a Dane who was raised across the seas and knows Christians only as weak, stupid, and useless, too blinded by their strange God to fight like men.”

“Is that what you think of us?” Alfred’s voice was light, curious even.

Uhtred blew out a breath, suppressing the urge to strangle him. “No, Lord. That is my point. Though you condemn me for my Danish ways, I was born a Saxon. I know better than to underestimate Saxons, in both war and in peace. But Erik…he is very much a Dane. I do not know how their love came to be, but it will be sorely tested. If you are determined to continue with this farce, I can only hope that it will come out stronger. I fear it will break under the strain.”

“And that, Uhtred Ragnarson of Bebbenburg, is not your concern and neither is it mine. If this is Aethelflaed’s will, and because it will solve most of our problems, it will be.”

There was a long pause. Uhtred stared at Alfred, trying desperately to find some solid ground, something familiar in this mad, warm stranger before him. Alfred was content to be examined. He simply stood and bore it, that small smile still touching his eyes and mouth.

“Yes, Lord.”

Alfred shook his head, a tiny twist, and the smile widened. “Uhtred, Eoferwic is weak and Dunholm is ruled by a Dane. With you once again in Bebbenburg…You will soon be the one truth Lord of the Northumbria, a king in your own right. As your forefathers were. Given this, I think perhaps, you may call me Alfred, as you did only moments ago.”

This was simply too much for Uhtred. He gaped, his mouth dropping open. “No. No no no. I am no king. I will never _be_ a king. Why must everyone keep calling me that? Have you taken leave of your sense, Lord?”

Alfred chuckled. “Well, we will circle back to that, I have no doubt. In the interim, Uhtred, we will continue gathering the silver, continue amassing men. You will send a scout to Bebbenburg to find out the strength of your uncle’s seat. How many men do you command at Coccham?”

Still reeling, Uhtred answered without thinking, “Twenty, Lord, but I cannot spare most of them, for they are farmers and must work.”

Alfred nodded, a far away look filling his eyes. “Yes. What about your personal guard?”

Uhtred frowned. “My…”

Alfred focused again on him and looked like he wished to roll his eyes. “Uhtred. Come. Stop playing games. You keep a personal guard. Much smaller than my own, but no less dangerous for that. They travel with you. I know Finan and Clapa and Sihtric. You often travel with Hild as well. Are there others?”

Uhtred’s confusion cleared, but in its place, a jarring realization struck him. “I…had not thought of them that way…I…There is also Osferth and Rypere.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes at Osferth’s name, but smiled. “So five or six in total. I will lend you Steapa as he is often in your company. We will need to discover how many more you shall need. Can you call on Earl Ragnar to help you?”

Uhtred nodded slowly, something warm twisting his guts. He had not realized how much Alfred knew of him, of his life. “Probably. But, Lord, you would then have two Danish Warlords on your borders, for I will not take Dunholm from my brother, not matter what you ask of me.”

Alfred nodded slowly. “Of course. But will Earl Ragnar swear to you? Will he follow your lead? He would be a strong ally in unifying the North. And perhaps making inroads into Alba?”

Uhtred shook his head. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Lord. We cannot conquer the continent.”

Alfred smiled again, looking for a moment like the young man that Uhtred had met so long ago. “Perhaps not, but we can certainly try.”


	2. Chapter 2

Uhtred had a bad feeling about their plan, but it was much too late now. Not that he’d had any more effective argument for Alfred against it. So, when Uhtred and his small band of rescuers arrived on the docks at Beamfleot and found the guard was just as Sihtric had said it would be, he exhaled a shaky breath, relieved. He gestured to Finan, who began to hand out reeds. 

Uhtred had met with Alfred in his bed chamber thrice more since the day they’d returned to give him the news. He knew that someone would notice soon, but there were too many details to work out and too great a chance to be overheard to meet elsewhere.

Disaster was lurking somewhere. He just didn’t know where.

Luckily, it wasn’t in this leg of the task. Everything went off exactly as planned. Uhtred could not have asked for a better execution. They’d crossed the river, surprised and slaughtered the guards, at which point Erik and Aethelflaed had appeared with a small crew for the ship that was tied to the dock. They’d all boarded the ship and sailed easily up river. No one asked questions. No one spoke.

When they’d cleared the area around Beamfleot enough to relax, Uhtred gestured for them to beach the boat. He pulled Erik and Aethelflaed aside. “You are to go on to my home at Coccham. Gisela will hide you for a short time. I will be along. Plan are being made. Do nothing until I come for you. Will you give me your word?”

Aethelflaed smiled brightly and flung her arms around Uhtred’s neck. “Thank you, Uhtred. I knew I could trust you. I knew you wouldn’t abandon us.”

Uhtred gave her a swift hug before pushing her away. Erik caught her around the waist and pulled her close. He nodded earnest and sincere. “I give you my word. We will await you, Lord Uhtred. And you have my eternal thanks.”

“Do not thank me yet, Erik. Do not thank me until we are successful and the two of you are safe.” Uhtred nodded sharply and turned away from them.

Finan and the rest were waiting. They had retrieved the horses and readied them to ride. Uhtred sighed and mounted his horse. The dread in his gut did not abate. It should be that the hardest part was done, but it had only just begun. He kicked his mount ahead of the company, keeping their speed down until they cleared the banks and were no longer at risk of drawing attention to themselves.

“Lord, I hope you know what you’re doing.” Finan murmured as he pulled up along side Uhtred at the head of the company. 

Uhtred laughed, bitter and harsh. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Finan. But I’m committed to doing it anyway. There are plans.”

Finan glanced behind them and leaned across to keep his voice low. “Uhtred…”

Uhtred turned his head to meet Finan’s eyes. “Finan, there are plans. That is all I may say.”

Finan nodded, face tight. “Answer me this one thing, then. Are you an oathbreaker, Uhtred?”

Uhtred knew what he was asking, truly. Finan did not care if Uhtred had deserted Alfred’s service. He would follow Uhtred no matter where he went. But this rescue mission is one thing if it is Uhtred disobeying his King to save a princess and will have no long term involvement. It is quite another if it is in collusion with that King.

“I am not.”

Finan stared at him, shock and disbelief in his eyes. He blinked and both were gone, replaced with acceptance. “Alright, Lord.”

Uhtred marveled at Finan’s devotion, but smiled. The night would be a long one and the days to come would be longer still. Uhtred glanced back at the river, kicked his mount into a gallop and set off for Winchester.

______________________________

Alfred was pacing the throne room when Uhtred returned. When he opened the doors, Alfred froze and stared for a long moment, before turning and immediately leading Uhtred out the other side of the room. Uhtred kept an eye on the intersecting hallways and saw no one, but he knew well that that did not mean that they weren’t seen. 

It was only a matter of time before someone realized that Uhtred the Dane was spending his time in the king’s bedroom. The whispers would begin. That Uhtred was spending his time in the King’s bed, that Alfred was acting on Uhtred’s word because he was smitten, that every time Uhtred had broken the King’s law and been spared was because he warmed the King’s bed. And those would be the kinder rumors. They would question Alfred’s status as God’s King and Aelswith would likely try to have him killed. He’d been reluctant to point this out to Alfred, but he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

If someone saw him enter the King’s private room this time, there was very little they could say in excuse for it was well passed midnight and Uhtred had shed his armor before approaching the palace. 

When the final door locked behind them, Alfred turned to him with a ragged breath and reached out a hand. “Uhtred, please…”

Uhtred’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled. “Yes. I—”

“Alfred?” The voice was feminine, high pitched and raw. Uhtred flinched and followed the sound into the shadows. Aelswith stood just outside the pool of moonlight that filtered in through the window. Her eyes were wounded and frantic. “Alfred, what is this?”

Alfred’s entire body had gone rigid at the sound of her voice. He seemed frozen, his hand still outstretched, his lips parted and eyes wide. Uhtred stared back at him, helpless. Which would be worse, Uhtred wondered, to tell the Queen what they were planning or to let the Queen believe what she was clearly terrified to admit?

Uhtred did not know and he wasn’t sure Alfred did either. Uhtred’s jaw clenched and he had never regretted anything more than he regretted putting off the discussion about this very possibility. 

“Lady, whatever you fear is happening here, it is not.“ Uhtred’s voice cracked, hoarse and wavering.

It jarred Alfred from his stasis. He dropped his hand and turned to his wife.

“No. No, Alfred. Please…please tell me that this is not what it appears. Tell me that this is not a sin that you would commit against God, against our marriage. Please.”

Alfred closed his eyes for a heartbeat and exhaled. Aelswith recoiled, but still waited for her husband’s answer. “My dear, I sent Uhtred to spy on the fortress at Beamfleot. To discover anything he might be able to about Aethelflaed’s condition.”

Aelswith frowned, shaking her head. “But why must it be here? Why bring him _here_?”

Alfred smiled with his mouth, but his eyes were flat and empty. Uhtred tried not to shift on his feet and call attention with himself. He would accept whatever narrative Alfred gave her. The excuse he was offering was weak at best and would leave Aelswith thinking that they were humping. And all the gods help him, Uhtred would go along with it.

“Privacy, my dear. As you have thought yourself, as you have mentioned to me, we do not know what they have done to her and I…” He looked away, allowing a measure of pain into his posture and Uhtred was unwillingly impressed with the lie. Better than he’d thought it would be.

Maybe she would believe it.

Aelswith looked as thought she were softening. “Could you not have privacy in the library?”

Alfred shook his head and looked back at her. He was very careful to keep the bed at his side and far from them. He paced closer to her. “No, my dear. The library is far from private, as you know. Too many windows, too many doors. The hallway is too public. The only place in this palace where there is privacy is this chamber. The only place where no one would overhear should Aethelflaed’s condition be…” He paused, his face tense for a moment, before turning his head to glance at Uhtred. “Uhtred has news. Shall we hear it?”

Uhtred could see the moment when she stopped believing Alfred’s words: at mention Uhtred’s name. Alfred no doubt saw it too. The coldness that rose in her eyes was like nothing Uhtred had ever seen from her. She had despised him since nearly the moment she’d met him, but even he had never seen her so hateful as this.

“Indeed, Lord. Why doesn’t Uhtred share what he knows, then?” She turned to him and the hatred in her face did not lessen. There was a challenge in her eyes, as though she wished to catch him with no answer.

Too bad for her that she was wrong. “She is safe.” He said, looking at Alfred, willing him to understand.

The relaxing of the tension lines around Alred’s eyes told Uhtred that he had. 

“She is…mostly unharmed, Lord, Lady. I have seen her. I have spoken to her. She is afraid that the ransom will be used to raise an army that will destroy Wessex. It eats at her, but…She has been hit once or twice, but the bruises fade and her strength and resilience grows. She will not be broken or bowed by this. And no one…As far as I could see or tell, no one touches her without her permission. There is a woman they send to her sometimes, to assist her in some way, but none of the men enter her cell besides the brothers. When they enter, the doors always remain open.”

Aelswith exhaled and some of the hostility in her face waned. “You have spoken to her? How did you get so close?”

Uhtred snorted and raised an eyebrow. “Lady, look at me.” He stretched out his arms wide, inviting their eyes. Alfred did look, his eyes trailing down the length of Uhtred’s body and back up, but Aelswith looked at her husband and her mouth tightened. “I look like a Dane. Without my sword, with my hair down in my face, I look like a Dane. At night, when men are in their cups, they do not question what is in front of their faces. They see what they wish to see.”

Aelswith’s jaw tightened. “You are telling me that you simply…what? Walked into an enemy’s fortress to have a chat with my daughter?”

Uhtred considered this. “Not quite, Lady, but close enough. I snuck across the river using a reed to breath, killed the guards watching at the dock, and snuck through one of the water gates. I hid and waited until I could be sure of the comings and goings. When I discovered where she was being kept, I crept to her barred window to speak with her.”

Aelswith’s face twitched and her mouth twisted up as though trying to detect a lie. Alfred sighed. “That is good news indeed, Uhtred. I am pleased that you found her well enough. How many men defend the fort?” Alfred asked, though Uhtred was sure he did not care. 

The King paced the length of his room to a table set into the corner. It was covered with maps. They had been using the sections of Northumbria to figure out the best approach to Bebbenburg, but it served as a distraction just as well. The last time Uhtred was here, Alfred had covered the relevant map with one of the area around Beamfleot. He laid his fingers against it now. “Come, describe the fort to me. Where are the paths? The gates? How many men and where are they stationed?”

Uhtred nodded, examine Aelswith in his peripherals. “Yes, Lord.” He crossed to him and began reciting as much as he could remember, all things he’d told Alfred before he was sure or that someone else had.

They spent several long minutes at this, before Aelswith unlocked the door and left. They did not fall silent until her foot steps faded down the corridor. Alfred exhaled and went out to lock the outer door again. Uhtred blinked hard, trying to clear his head. It was very late and his mind was clouded with exhaustion. 

When Alfred returned to the bedroom and locked the door behind him, Uhtred had edged back to slump against the wall. He watched Uhtred with a blank face for a moment before demanding, “Tell me.”

“It is done. Which you knew. They are on their way to Coccham. I have dispatched Sihtric ahead of them to explain to my wife why the princess and a dane are going to be hiding in our hall. And Clapa accompanies them on their journey. It all happened exactly as Aethelflaed described it. I do not like it. No plan works that well. Your wife will not be the only snare, I fear.”

Alfred let out a harsh bark of laughter. “My wife, who now believes…”

Uhtred raised an eyebrow at him. “She now believes that we lay together, Lord. That we hump. Which was a foreseeable outcome. I was intending to bring it up this very evening. I have been here too often over the past week. Someone will have noticed something and there will be rumors. Now that Aelswith believes…as she does, the rumors will grow worse. This could destabilize your rule.”

“Certainly not! A rumor of this nature could not—“

“Alfred, you are God’s King. The people believe. The Lords believe. Would God’s King hump a pagan? A _man_?” 

Could he really be so blind? Or was his simply willful in his ignorance? Uhtred wanted to strangle him again. This was happening with increasing frequency.

Alfred lips pressed into a tight line.

“It is distinctly possible that your wife is waiting right now to see how long it takes me to leave your rooms.”

“Oh good God. Can no one in this entire kingdom mind their own business?”

Uhtred laughed, genuine this time, and Alfred stared at him. “No, Lord. It would seem not.”

Alfred shook his head. “No matter. You will be gone very soon and it will make no difference. First to Coccham and then on to Northumbria, where you will be King.”

“Lord, I have already—“

“Uhtred!” Alfred’s voice crackled, like lightening. Uhtred fell immediately silent. “Uhtred, use your head. Eoferwic is weak. Dunholm is held by your brother and you are soon to take Bebbenburg. Those are the only seats of power in Northumbria. With the two of you allied against Guthred, you can kill him and take his throne. Get your revenge for your enslavement and free the people from the caprices of a coward king. Dunholm will swear to Bebbenburg. I have met Ragnar. He has no wish to lead like that. No head for politics, not on that scale. You _will_ be king.”

“I have sworn my sword to you.”

“And now, I release you from that oath. You cannot rule while sworn to another. And so you cannot be sworn. You have already given me your word that you will carry out this plan we crafted. Perhaps when you sit upon the throne of Northumbria, we can form an alliance. Take one step more on the road to England...My son will need to be betrothed. You have a daughter who will need a husband. I know she is young still, but the years between her and my son are not so great. It would be a good match. And one to tie Wessex to Northumbria.”

Uhtred simply stared at him, still not quite wrapping his mind around their entire conversation. Their entire plan. Alfred had gone from treating him as a dog to do tricks when it pleased him to treating him as an equal. It felt, Uhtred thought dazedly, a little like falling off a horse: jarring and confusing and possibly able to kill him.

Alfred smiled and waved his hand. “No more talk of betrothal. It is too soon to think of such things. First, you must take Bebbenburg and then the North. After that, we shall meet. I will send men to you in ones and twos over the next two weeks. Send word to Earl Ragnar and protect my daughter with your life, Uhtred.”

Uhtred huffed. “I have already sent word. And when have I ever done anything else, Lord?”

Alfred’s smile this time was full and real, with nothing of the mania of the passed weeks. “You are, of course, right. I shall miss your insolence and your quick wit, Uhtred Ragnarson of Bebbenburg. May God bless you on your journey and in your goals.”

Uhtred smiled and offered Alfred a hand. Alfred reached out and grasped Uhtred’s forearm. “And may the gods smile on you, Alfred of England.”

Alfred pulled him in for a quick embrace, murmuring in his ear, “You will succeed. You will take back your birth right.”

Uhtred pulled back and bared his teeth. “Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Uhtred rode into Coccham with dread sitting heavy in his guts. Alfred had stopped gathering silver, was now returning most of it instead. He was gathering troops, but for what no one could seem to decide. By the time Uhtred left the city, rumors were already spreading: There was something wrong among the Danes. Uhtred had warmed the King’s bed and then abandoned him. Uhtred had been banished again. Erik had disappeared. Sigefrid had killed him. They had together killed Aethelflaed. Uhtred had left to save her, single handed, and to kill all the Danes in Beamfleot. 

That last was Uhtred’s favorite, for it meant that men were afraid of him. What he was afraid of was what he might find when he arrived home.

Gisela came out to greet him, when he dismounted, and whispered into his hair that Aethelflaed and Erik were hiding in the hall and had been since they’d arrived two days before. She told him that the first of Alfred’s men had already arrived: Steapa and another man.

When he pulled back to kiss her, she slapped him with feigned outrage on her face. He gaped at her, stepping back out of range of her hands and reaching up to rub at his cheek. “What have I done to deserve such a blow, woman?”

She cocked an eyebrow, but there was amusement in her eyes. “Have I not heard that you hump the King?”

Uhtred groaned, wanting nothing more than to collapse into the dirt and pretend he had never met any of them. Finan appeared at her shoulder. “I never thought you had it in you, Lord. I don’t get the appeal myself.”

Uhtred glowered at them both. “It has been two days. I do not understand how that rumor has arrived here already.”

Gisela huffed. “I do not hear you denying it, my love.”

“And you will not, because it is stupid and does not deserve to be acknowledged.”

Finan laughed, loud and echoing. “Still not a denial.” He grinned wide and leaned in, as though to ask Uhtred in confidence. “Did you really hump the King, Lord? What’s he like in bed then? As much of a pious ass as out of it? Or is it all a ploy?”

Uhtred smacked Finan on the back of the head and pushed passed them both to enter his hall. Finan’s laughter and Gisela’s taunting followed him. He was, to his shock, not met with Clapa and Rypere, but Hild and Father Beocca.

He grinned at them both, shaking off the gloom of Finan’s teasing. “Hild! Father Beocca! I was not expecting you.”

Beocca did not smile, as Uhtred expected. Instead, he glared as though Uhtred had committed some grievous sin. “Uhtred, I am here to speak with you on a very important matter.”

Uhtred frowned, wondering if Alfred had seen fit to share the plan with his favorite priest. “By all means. Sit. No doubt my annoying wife will bring you food and ale, if you have not eaten.”

Gisela laughed, somewhere over his shoulder. “Yes, husband.”

He rolled his eyes and crossed to drop into the chair at the head of the table. Beocca sat gingerly on his right and Hild his left. Uhtred frowned at them, keenly aware of the presence of Erik and Aethelflaed above their heads.

“What is it you wanted to speak with me about, Beocca?”

“Your relationship with the King.” The priest’s face was grave and there was something like anger in his eyes.

Uhtred groaned. “Not you as well. Must I be surrounded with people who enjoy torturing me?”

“Uhtred! This is a very serious matter. I will not tolerate your usual insolence in this.”

Uhtred straightened from his slouch, his brow furrowing. “Serious…Father Beocca, you cannot have believed the rumors?”

Beocca’s chin came forward and his scowl deepened. “I have heard it from the Queen.”

Uhtred closed his eyes and exhaled. Gods damn that woman, who could never seem to close her useless mouth. When he managed to open his eyes again, Beocca was still scowling, but there was a lost look in his eyes. Hild was staring at him, unreadable and intense. 

An arm appeared over his shoulder, holding a jug of ale. He looked up at Gisela who had lost her teasing smirk. She too was staring at him. 

Uhtred wanted to scream. Did everyone in the realm think he was humping the King? What had he ever done to deserve all this?

“And what does Aelswith say, Beocca? What accusations has she dared make of me behind my back? What has she said to you that she could not say to my face?” Uhtred could not stop the tightness of his voice nor the way his hand clenched into a fist against the arm of his chair.

Beocca glanced at it, his jaw working for a moment in silence. “She told me that three nights ago, she went to her husband’s bed chamber to await his arrival. She waited long into the night and when he did finally arrive, he was not alone. She heard him lock his outer door and then he let you into the inner room and locked that door as well. She said that he was reaching for you when she made her presence known. That…” Beocca trailed off, looking pained. Uhtred wondered if Aelswith would have told the whole of it, from her perspective, or if she would have spared her husband’s dignity. After a beat, Beocca continued, “That he begged for you before she interrupted.”

Uhtred exhaled. His hand itched for Aelswith’s throat. Damn the woman.

“And she has sent you here to do what?” Uhtred fought to keep his voice even. Hild’s stare intensified. He could feel Gisela at his back.

“She did not send me here. Nor did Alfred. I could not let this go unaddressed. Uhtred, how could you?”

Uhtred smiled and Beocca flinched back from it. “I am a heathen, am I not?” He stood, ignoring Beocca’s look of shocked betrayal. “Gisela, a private word, please.”

She nodded, her face carefully blank, and followed him out of the hall. Outside, the sun still shone and the people bustled around, but he barely noticed any of it. He led his wife to the docks, where they could talk without fear of being overheard.

“Uhtred, have you humped Alfred? I thought it was a joke at first, but…” Gisela’s voice was small in a way that Uhtred had never heard it. It made Uhtred’s blood boil.

“Damn that woman. I would have her head, if I could get away with it.” He sighed, forcing the anger back. “No. Alfred’s bed chamber is the only room in the palace where a conversation cannot be overheard. Aelswith was not told of…” He gestured vaguely back to the hall.

Gisela’s eyes widened and her mouth rounded in surprise and understanding. “You were there to tell him that the deed had been done, then?”

Uhtred smiled, weary. “I was. I had told him nothing of her yet. He was begging for good news, no doubt, but…I can see where she would misunderstand. Alfred lied to her, tried to convince her I had been to Beamfleot to spy and he was merely getting a report, but it was too weak and she did not believe him. So now, she condemns us both and cannot be trusted with the truth. I did not think she would go so far as to tell anyone else, but…”

“Should you tell Father Beocca?” 

Uhtred sighed again, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I will tell Hild, because I will need her, but…Beocca should go back to Alfred. Except he will blame him as much as me for this and…I do not trust what he will do. I have known him all my life, but I do not know what he will do.”

Gisela shook her head. “His place is with you in Bebbenburg, Uhtred. If you are to be King…”

Uhtred ignored her trailed off statement. “But we cannot trust the hall. There could be anyone hiding in corners or pressed to outer walls.”

“Take him into the woods. Take them both. If he stays here any longer, he will noticed that Alfred’s men appear daily. There were two more this morning and I think there will be another few by evening.”

“Good. Hopefully we will travel with enough men to be a formidable force when we take Bebbenburg. Hopefully, when my brother joins us.”

Gisela nodded, smiling up at him. He pulled her into a a brief kiss, before letting her pull away from him. The sparkle was back in her eye. “But if you did ever hump Alfred, I expect you to tell me all about it afterward.”

He gaped at her for a long moment, before contemplating throwing her into the river. “Be gone, woman. You are a menace.”

She laughed and sashayed her way back to the hall. Uhtred took a breath, watching the river and trying to find some path out of the quagmire that Alfred had sunk them in. Just as he was preparing to give up and go back inside, he spotted something up river, far in the distance. A dark shape…and then another… “Raiders. Damn it.” Without taking his eyes from the river, he began to back away from the water as fast as he could go. “Clapa! Rypere! Hild!”

Finally tearing his eyes away, he turned and ran for the hall. “Gisela! Raiders! More than one ship!” He called as he burst through the doors and dove for a spear from the rack beside the table.

He tossed one then two to Hild, who caught them and passed one to Beocca. When he turned to her, Gisela was staring up over their heads at the floor above. “Take them and hide them. There is a hollow in the floor beneath the alcove. They should both fit inside. Cover it with soaked furs in case they fire the hall. Do it. Now!”

Uhtred fled the hall with Hild and Beocca on his heels. Finan, Clapa, and the rest had already retrieved their weapons and were waiting for him. “How many ships?”

Finan shrugged. “Three at least, Lord. Maybe four. But smaller than the warships. Traders?”

Uhtred shook his head. “No. Not in those numbers, not this far inland. Finan, you know why they are coming. We must stop them.”

“Uhtred, why is Steapa here?” Beocca’s voice was colored with confusion and a tinge of horror. 

Without thinking, Uhtred said, “Alfred sent him to me.”

There was a profound silence all around him that finally dragged Uhtred’s eyes from the river. Everyone was staring at him, Steapa with a grin on his face. They had obviously all heard the rumors. Even those among the group who had been with him at Beamfleot and seen him rescue the princess were still staring openly. Osferth, toward the back of the group, was staring with wide, wounded eyes and Uhtred was abruptly reminded that Alfred was his father. 

Uhtred sighed, aggravated. “Can we not do this now? There are Danes to kill.”

Which thankfully brought everyone back to the present and the threat looming over them. 

The ships, by then had resolved themselves into only three, but each was packed with warriors. Uhtred moved swiftly to the edge of the dock, hoping to waylay them for a little while away, and called, “Sigefrid! What is this?”

A figure at the front of the first boat climbed the prow. “Uhtred Ragnarson, I know what you have done and you will pay.”

“And what is it that I have done?” Uhtred made his voice as taunting as he could manage and plastered a smirk across his face. 

“You killed my brother and stole our ransom.”

Well…that was not quite what Uhtred was expecting, but he wasn’t going to argue. “If it’s Aethelflaed that you want, you won’t find her here. She has gone with her husband. And is no doubt in Mercia by now.”

The Dane roared, a wordless cry of rage, before he screamed. “I want only revenge!”

Uhtred glanced behind him. With Beocca and Hild, there were perhaps two dozen of them in all. With Erik's Danes, three dozen, but he couldn't guarantee they'd be willing to fight for him. He could see another two of Alfred’s men up the road. The rest of his fighting men were in the fields and likely unarmed. He wasn’t sure it mattered either way. There were at least three times their numbers on the ships. They would all die if the Danes attacked.

“If it revenge you want, Sigefrid, I am right here.” He held out his arms and looked back at the Dane. “I will fight you, man to man, and you will have your chance at revenge.”

Sigefrid tilted his head. He was nearly close enough for Uhtred to make out his features. “Yes. We shall fight. If I win, my men will pillage your home. They will take your wife and your witch and pass them both around. And they will slaughter everyone else they find here.”

“And when I win, your men will get back on these boats and sail back at Beamfleot.”

“Agreed.” Sigefrid said, teeth bared in a grimace.


	4. Chapter 4

Uhtred had the advantage of knowing the land, if it were to come to a battle, but in single combat, that counted for nothing. He was tired, hungry, unfocused, but he had purpose and skill. And men feared him. Sigefrid, though, had the fire of revenge in his blood. But, Uhtred had beaten Sigefrid before and the man was without a sword hand. The blade he had fasten to the remains of his wrist was powerful, but it lacked reach. 

When Sigefrid’s boat bumped the dock, the man himself disembarked with two others. The rest stayed aboard. Uhtred exhaled, relieved. At his back, Finan was forming the square, clearing a wide swath of level ground. 

The Dane’s face was dark with rage. “I will kill you, Uhtred Daneslayer.”

Uhtred laughed backing into the square and drawing his sword. Finan handed him a shield. “I have killed far better men than you, Sigefrid Thurgilson. Your blood will wet this earth, like your brother’s did.”

The man roared again, grabbing a shield from one of the men at his side, and charged. Uhtred ducked easily and darted way, deflecting a blow from that arm-blade to test its strength. Sigefrid was a big man with a powerful arm, but that blade was not a permanent fixture and if Uhtred managed to take enough blows from it on his shield, he might be able to dislodge it. That is, if he didn’t sink his own blade into Sigefrid’s belly before then.

The two men circled. The noise of the crowd, the concern of Erik and Aethelflaed hiding under the hall, the stress from the passed week, all melted away and Uhtred saw only Sigefrid. He fought like a dance, parrying blows and striking his own. He cut Sigefrid’s left arm and the Dane landed a blow to his thigh. Forward and back, back and forward, they danced. The longer is went on, the sloppier Sigefrid grew, blind with rage and desperate for revenge. Sloppiness was not, however, a boon to Uhtred for Sigefrid stopped conserving his strength and began instead to put the full weight of his body and height behind each hit.

Uhtred’s shield caught a strike, but with enough force to send it back into his face, catching his mouth and wetting his teeth in blood. He smiled wide, red-stained and dangerous, and knew that he was not going to win this fight as Lord Uhtred of Coccham or Bebbenburg or even as Uhtred Ragnarson. He darted back, exhaling, and let himself slip away, beyond the civility of Saxon life, beyond the morals that his fathers had taught him, into that place that he’d inhabited for so long after Ragnar had saved him from the slaver. That place that put madness in his eyes, fire in his bones, and fear into the hearts of his enemies. 

He knew the exact moment when Sigefrid recognized it. His back went up and he retreated a single step, but it was all the retreat Uhtred needed. He dropped his shield and attacked, hard, blow after blow, driving Sigefrid back into the line of men behind him. They broke, scattering, and still Uhtred struck, showing no mercy. He wanted blood. He wanted the spray of it across his face, the hot metallic tang of it in his mouth, he wanted to watch the life drain from Sigefrid’s eyes and fear grow in those around him. With some small, distant part of his mind, he wondered if this was what Ragnar had felt when he’d killed Kjartan, but the thought was like water running through his fingers. His arms began to ache from the power of his blows, but still he refused to let up. Too quick for Sigefrid to return the attack, too powerful for him to do anything but block. 

Finally, just as they reached the waterline, Sigefrid reached up to deflect a blow with his arm-blade and the power behind Uhtred’s swing dislodged it. The blade spun away from them, splashing into the river and Uhtred smiled, wide and bloody and mad. And rammed his blade through Sigefrid’s chest.

The Dane stared down at the blade for a long moment, left hand going instinctually to the short sword he still wore at his waist. Just as he closed his hand around the hilt, Uhtred leaned in and said, too low to be heard by anyone but Sigefrid, "He lives." Sigefrid's eyes went wide and Uhtred darted back, taking his blade with him. The Dane swayed for a moment, voice a gurgle in his throat, and toppled backward into the river. Uhtred breathed, staring down at the body and tasting blood on his tongue. 

There was silence around him. With each breath, he clawed his way back to himself, away from the madness that lived in his chest. He clenched his jaw and turned. “You will get back on your ships and sail back to Beamfleot. You will tell them what has happened here. And you will not come back. Next time, we will greet you with burning arrows instead of words.”

The two Danes who’d come with Sigefrid nodded and scrambled back to their ships. Uhtred let his sword point drop to the dirt and leaned against it. He blinked and when he’d opened his eyes, Gisela and Hild were on either side of him. He shook his head, wondering if he’d lost time. “Uhtred, come. Let’s get you back to the hall and cleaned up.”

____________________________________

The shield he’d taken to the face must have effected him more than he’d initially thought because it wasn’t until he was seated back at the table, shirtless, cleaned of blood, and being bandaged by Hild, that he remembered the issue of Beocca. And of Erik and Aethelflaed who were likely still hiding in the floor.

He sighed and scrubbed his face with his free hand. Beocca sat to his right and watched, quietly. His expression was a curious mix of affection, worry, and something darker. Horror perhaps or disgust. Seeing it there, Uhtred was tempted to let him go on thinking Aelswith was right. 

At that thought, he stopped, glancing down at the table top and considering it. He tried to think it through as rationally as Alfred might. If he admitted to the deception, what would Beocca do? Would he stay and go North with Uhtred to fight by his side? Or would he go back to Winchester? If he did, would he tell the Queen that she’d been mistaken or would he keep his piece? If he did tell her, he would certainly have to tell her the truth and that just could not happen. Not with Aethelflaed and Erik still in Wessex. Was that a risk he could take?

He blinked and looked up at Gisela, who was watching him with concern. He cut his eyes briefly to Beocca and shook his head once. Her mouth twisted into a frown, but she nodded.

“Say your piece, Beocca.” Uhtred sounded weary, even to his own ears.

“Uhtred, I do not pretend to understand your relationship with the King. I have never understood your relationship with the King. But, if the Lady Aelswith is right and it has grown…physical in nature, you have to know that you are leading Alfred down a path of sin.”

Uhtred’s eyes narrowed and he sneered, burying sting of it deep beneath his anger. “I am leading him? Why do you blame me so easily for this?”

Beocca’s eyes widened, no doubt taking Uhtred’s words as confirmation. “Because Alfred is a Christian and a God-fearing man. He would not—“

Uhtred laughed, biting and sharp. “He would not what, Beocca? He would not stray from his wife’s bed? But we both know that to be a lie. There is a baby monk just outside this hall that proves it. Or is the worse sin that I am a man? Or, in the eyes of Aelswith, that I am _a Dane_?”

Beocca dropped his eyes away, unable to meet Uhtred’s gaze. “For the Queen, I would not doubt that the fact that you are a Dane is the greater sin.”

“And for you, Beocca? I have humped men before. The Danes are not quite so prudish as the Saxons. Well, most Saxons.” Uhtred curled his mouth into a lascivious smirk, but his eyes were hard.

Beocca raised his eyes again, beseeching this time. “Uhtred, an affair can be forgiven in the flush of youth. A mistake and one that Alfred sought forgiveness for. One that he promised not to repeat. But he is no longer a young man who can be forgiven such things. The rumors only grow. This…affair you have begun with him must end. For the good of his soul and for the good of his kingdom.”

Uhtred’s jaw clenched at the implications. He wasn’t even humping Alfred and somehow being told that he could not offended him. He could feel the resentment and the anger begin to roil in his gut. He flexed his arm, nodding a thanks to Hild, who retook her seat at the table. She, at least, had yet to render an opinion on the matter.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Alfred has freed me from my oath. We're going North in less than a fortnight.”

Beocca reeled at this, slumping back in his chair, shock written deep into the lines of his face. “North?”

“Aye, North. To Bebbenburg. I will take what is mine.”

Beocca straightened, shaking his head. “Uhtred, no. The King will certainly not allow—“

“Alfred knows of my plans, Beocca.”

Hild gasped. Beocca’s mouth dropped open. Uhtred raised an eyebrow at them both and waited. When the priest managed to collect his wits, he breathed. “Than surely that rumor is true. The king is so taken with you that he grants you any request.”

Uhtred rolled his eyes. “I did not request anything from him. He granted me nothing but my free will. I did not ask him to allow me to go North.”

Well, Uhtred thought, that was certainly no lie. He did not ask to go North. He was ordered to. He shifted in his seat, easing into a more comfortable position and ignoring the ache in his left thigh. 

Beocca was still gaping, his eyes occasionally dropping to the tabletop before flicking back up to Uhtred’s face. It took Uhtred a beat longer than it probably should have to recognize what Beocca was thinking. When he did, he burst out laughing, unable to help himself. How had he ended up in this insanity? 

“Beocca, my cock is not some sort of drug to make Alfred forget who he is and grant my every desire. I am a man, like any other.” He said, once the laughter subsided.

Beocca’s face was flushed and he refused to meet Uhtred’s eyes again.

Gisela chuckled at his embarrassment, finally crossing the hall to join them. She perched in Uhtred’s lap and smiled at him. “I don’t know that I would say that, Uhtred. I have travel with an army. The sight of soldiers bathing is familiar to me. And so, I would definitely not say you were a man like other men.”

Uhtred’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “I do not want to know what you mean. In fact, let’s change the subject entirely.”

Gisela grinned and looked down, which brought Uhtred's attention not to his own body, but to the floor beneath their feet. Uhtred was, suddenly, acutely aware of the King’s daughter hiding under the floor not a dozen yards from where they sat. Silence fell, more comfortable then before, but with a clear tension still in the air.

“Uhtred, you cannot go North. You do not have the men to take Bebbenburg.” Beocca said finally.

Uhtred inclined his head, acknowledging that. “But Ragnar does. I will be heading first to Dunholm. I have already sent a messenger. Ragnar will be expecting me.”

“Uhtred—“

Uhtred shook his head. “I will not argue with you on it, Beocca. I am going North. You cannot say that Alfred will forbid it, because he has not. You cannot claim my oath, because it has been dissolved. There is nothing you can say to talk me out of this.”

Beocca sighed, his jaw working again. “Then, if you will not be turned from this path, I will go with you.”

Some knot of tension in Uhtred’s chest that he had not realized was there loosened at Beocca’s pledge. “You, at least, will have to ask Alfred’s permission. I’ll send a note along with you.” Uhtred paused, considering. If Beocca was on the road with them, he would surely realize that they were traveling with the missing princess. They could not conceal her. Could they? If they could not, what would he do then? “Or perhaps, I will accompany you back to the city. I’ll inform Alfred of what happened today in person. Either way, we ride out in twelve days, from here. If you are to join us, you must return by then. Bring Thyra. She can stay with Gisela and the children at Dunholm. Perhaps Alfred will send a few guards with you and swell our numbers a little.” 

Gisela leaned back into him and murmured into his ear, “You should go with him. Today. Get him away from here.” She leaned back and then stood.

He stood as well. “If you do come with us, you’ll have preparations to make. It is not a quick journey, nor will it be a short one. We should leave now. Give you the time to organize your trip.”

Beocca scowled up at him. “But Uhtred, surely you are tired after—“

“Beocca, I am fine to ride. It’s barely a day’s trip. We’ll be there by tomorrow morning. Hardly taxing. Come. Gisela, could you fetch us some food and a skin of ale for the ride?” Gisela smiled warmly at him and he returned it. “I, at least, should be back in a couple of days. To help with preparations here.”


	5. Chapter 5

As Uhtred predicted, they arrived back in Winchester the following morning, near midday. The ride had been tense, but at least easy enough that it did not reopen the shallow cut that Sigefrid had given him. It was also, unusually for them, nearly silent. Uhtred was unwilling to offer anything unprompted and Beocca seemed reluctant to ask. 

Uhtred suspected that Beocca thought he wanted to hump Alfred one last time before he set out for the North. How the man could believe that Gisela would allow him to keep his balls if he were genuinely disrespecting her like that baffled him. But it was a useful lie and one that Alfred would get to decide the extent of. 

Alfred was in the courtyard when they arrived, watching Edward hack away at a guard with a small wooden sword. Uhtred bit down on a smile at the sight, keenly aware of Beocca’s scrutiny. 

Alfred’s eyes went wide for the briefest of heartbeats when he spotted Uhtred. “Uhtred, what brings you back to Winchester so soon?”

Uhtred smiled, wide and toothy. “News, Lord. Sigefrid is dead.”

Alfred blinked at him, face blank for a long moment. “And how did it happened? How did you discover it?”

“I ran my sword through his chest, Lord. He died on the banks of the river and his men left him there to wash out with the tide. My men will likely have his body burned.”

“Indeed.” Alfred nodded and paused. “A word then, Uhtred, if you please.”

The King turned to go, but Beocca called out, “Lord, a moment of your time?”

Alfred stopped and turned back to them, a look of polite interest on his face and his eyes guarded. “Of course, Father. The chapel, perhaps?”

Uhtred, who was standing a pace or so back over Beocca’s shoulder, gave Alfred a significant look, hoping against hope that the man would understand that something was amiss.

Beocca nodded and they followed Alfred through the courtyard and into the palace. The chapel was always one of Uhtred’s least favorite rooms. There was a constant draft and things tended to echo, but worst of all, there was only one proper exit.

“Father, what is on your mind?”

Beocca stared at Alfred for a long, still moment, but sighing. “Uhtred tells me he is going North, Lord, and I would request permission to accompany him on his journey.”

“Oh he does, does he?” Alfred turned sharp eyes on Uhtred, who shrugged. “And just when did he share these plans of his?”

“Beocca was at Coccham when I returned. He had apparently only just arrived and was waiting to ambush me.” Uhtred met Alfred’s gaze with a placid, unworried stare.

“Indeed. Well, Father Beocca, if that is your wish, than I will not prevent it.” Alfred made made a wide, sweeping gesture. “By all means, head North. It was, after all, your home once.”

Beocca blinked, a frown just beginning to touch his face. “Yes, Lord. It was. Thank you, Lord.”

Alfred nodded, smiling slightly. “Uhtred has told me that he is planning to leave within the fortnight. I would suggest you tell Thyra immediately and begin making your own preparations.”

Beocca nodded, but did not leave, despite the obvious dismissal.

Alfred’s smile widened a little. “Uhtred, walk with me. I would hear more of Sigefrid.”

“Yes, Lord.” Uhtred murmured, grinning. He took a vindictive kind of pleasure in the way that Beocca’s face paled.

They left the priest in the chapel, watching their departure with fascinated horror.

“He has heard the whispers, I take it?” Alfred said, voice quiet, as they moved slowly through the corridors toward Alfred’s bed chamber.

“Worse, Lord.” Uhtred said, but did not elaborate. He did not need to. He heard Alfred inhale sharply, but did not turn to look.

The hallway in front of the King’s chambers was deserted, thankfully, and so were the rooms within. Alfred locked them in and turned to Uhtred, his posture relaxing a touch. “By worse, I take it you mean that my wife has told him.”

“Very much so. In…some detail.” Alfred tilted his head, frowning in confusion, and Uhtred reluctantly continued, “Apparently, she told him that she interrupted you begging for me, Lord. I thought perhaps she might…have spared your dignity, but she did not. And neither did Beocca.”

Alfred straightened in annoyance and exhaled slowly. “And who was witness to his admission?”

“My wife, who knows it to be false, and Hild, Lord…and Erik and your daughter, who were hiding beneath the floorboards.”

Alfred’s face tightened. “I see. Well. Nothing can be done about it now. Did you disabuse him of the idea?”

Uhtred tensed, watching Alfred warily as he shook his head. “I did not. In fact…I encouraged him to think it.”

Alfred scowled. “To what purpose?”

“If he had been told the truth of it, he would have gone back to Aelswith to free her from her concern. And then we would have had to explain to both of them what exactly it is we are doing, locked in your bedroom for hours at a time, often in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, I see your point. I suppose there is no help for it.”

Uhtred snorted. “At least no one is teasing you over it. My wife told me that if I ever did hump you, I was required to tell her every detail. And Finan won’t stop asking questions.”

Alfred’s eyebrows shot up, before he shook his head. “This is foolishness. Tell me about Sigefrid.”

Uhtred stepped back to lean against the wall. “He’s one of two reasons I’m here. He seemed to think that I’d killed Erik and taken Aethelflaed myself. So he was half right, but I do not know where that idea came from or who. I do know that they will be disorganized with only Haeston to lead them. I suggest that you attack them as soon as you are able. It’s possible that even now, men are beginning to slip away in darkness. They were there for silver and glory. With both brothers gone, there will be neither. They are weak, but they are many. Defeat them and you will have taken another step toward England.”

Alfred nodded, crossing the room to stare out the window. “And the other reason?”

“Beocca. Should he be told? I trust the man with my life, but I do not know what he would do if he discovered them.”

Alfred said nothing, gave no indication that he’d heard Uhtred speak. They stayed that way, silent and distant, for long enough that Uhtred shifted on his feet. The soft rustle of his clothing brought Alfred out of his revery. “He cannot be told. Not until the last possible moment. Is there any way to hide them from him?”

Uhtred considered it. He couldn’t hide the king’s daughter with the women and children because Thyra would tell her husband as soon as she realized what was happening. But maybe…

“If I send Erik on first to Dunholm, with a message for Ragnar…we could cut Aethelflaed’s hair and dress her as a young soldier? It might work. Osferth would take care of her, protect her.”

Alfred twitched. “He is still with you then? My bastard?”

Uhtred grinned again. “Yes, Lord. My wife is very fond of him. He’s not much of a warrior though, not yet. But Aethelflaed is his sister.”

Alfred nodded, slowly as thought he were not yet committed to the idea. “Yes, alright. If you think that Beocca won’t recognize her that way, do it. She would make something of a misfit warrior, but you do collect them, don’t you?”

Uhtred’s grin softened into a warm smile. “I do, at that. Good men, all.”

Alfred stared at him for a moment. “Yes. Alright. Nothing changes then, except now I have an excuse to send you with more men. I will send Beocca with a small guard. Two or three men, perhaps. To protect him and Thyra. Perhaps I will manufacture some task to excuse them. A gift to the Northern King or to Earl Ragnar.” Alfred glanced out the window for a moment, before focusing back on Uhtred. “I suppose this is goodbye, then. For now at least. The next time I will see you, you shall have a crown upon your head, King Uhtred of Northumbria.”

Uhtred twitched, a full body movement that he could not quite describe as a flinch or a shiver. “Then I will wish you luck at Beamfleot, King Alfred of England.”

Alfred blinked, his pupils blowing wide and his eyes going hot for the barest fraction. Long enough for Uhtred to see it, but short enough for him to question his eyes. Uhtred fought the urge to skim his gaze down the long stretch of Alfred’s robes. Instead, he simply met the man’s gaze and held it. Alfred nodded once, his face tight, and swept from the room.

Uhtred took a moment to breath, confusion beginning to set in, before he managed to push it away. It wasn’t important and he’d never get answers anyway. He was needed back at Coccham. He sighed. He had another weary ride ahead of him and he’d only just arrived. He left the King’s chambers and headed for the stables, not noticing the shadow lurking at the end of the hall.


	6. Interlude

Interlude

In a dark corner of an alehouse, far from the palace at Winchester, Aethelwold and Aethelred sat with heads bowed close, speaking in hushed tones.

“I know what I saw.” Aethelwold complained, face twisted in an obsequious smile.

“And what exactly did you see? You say you know that the king is humping Uhtred, but where is the proof? Did you see them in the act?” Aethelred’s voice was dark, nearly a hiss, but his eyes were bright and eager.

“I saw Uhtred, leaving the King’s chambers very early in the morning indeed. Not one day passed. But worse, I saw him enter the same several nights before that, well passed moonrise. And…” Aethelwold leaned in closer, smile widening. “I heard the lady Aeslwith tell the good Father Beocca the same. That she was waiting in the king’s bedchambers for his return, late into the night, and that he arrived, not alone, but with Uhtred, and them eager for a hump.”

Aehtelred’s eyes were wide. He glanced sharply at Aldhelm, who returned his look with a significant tilt of his head. “Did you, indeed? Well. That is interesting. The rumors already fly around the city about their relationship. I have never heard quite so many tongues wag in such a way before. In every rumor, perhaps there is a kernel of truth.”

“And what will you do now?” Aethelwold asked, eager himself to see Alfred unseated.

Aethelred tilted his head. “Nothing. Not until the time is right. But…the Witan must learn of it, if there is evidence behind the story.”


	7. Chapter 7

On the day after Uhtred left the city for the final time, Alfred told his wife another lie, this time about Aethelflaed. He told her that their daughter had disappeared from the fort and that he was unsure of how. Aelswith wept and let him hold her, but only for a moment before she pushed him away.

“Our daughter is lost, escaped, taken, gone, maybe dead, and you sully our marriage bed with that heathen! You should be thinking only of her. You should be spending your time on recovering her, on killing the Danes, not humping one. You should be using your head, Lord, not your cock.” She forced out through gritted teeth.

Alfred’s heart ached for her pain, for this betrayal that she believed he had perpetrated against her, for the need of it, but he could not risk all the plans they had laid by telling her the truth. He sighed, wishing she had simply stayed away from his rooms. Not that that would be a problem now, for he doubted she would ever set foot in them again.

“My dear, I have told you before and I will tell you again. You are mistaken and you cast false accusations. There is no such relationship between Uhtred and I.”

She stiffened her back and met his gaze. “I am no fool, Alfred, and I will hear no more of this lie. How far you have fallen, my Lord King. What other sins do you now commit?”

Alfred had simply turned and walked away from that rather than try and respond. He wanted to scream and tear his hair and lock himself away from all the world. He wanted to mount a horse and ride far away from here. He wanted his brother, alive and well, ruling still and leaving Alfred free to do as he pleased.

He wanted to speak with Uhtred, but that was something he had deprived himself of and he could not regret it. They were committed to this course. He had no other choice, but to see it through. 

He went to call the Witan. 

Uhtred had been right. Beamfleot was weak and they needed to strike soon, before the Danes had splintered and fled. He did not share this with any of the ealdormen before their gathering and so there was a loud swell of voices murmuring as they entered. He had come there directly, having nowhere else to retreat to that could calm his thoughts. And so, he sat and watched the ealdormen enter in pairs and packs, milling about and sharing gossip as they found their places.

Alfred stood, intending to call them to order once everyone had arrived, but had no need, as the room fell silent. “We are gathered here to discuss an attack on Beamfleot.”

“Lord, if I may, should we not wait for the arrival of your favorite ealdorman? I do not see him among the gathering.” Aethelred interrupted, standing. 

Alfred could feel his eye twitch, a frown on the cusp of forming, before he smoothed out his face. Aethelred was a worm in the earth and he regretted daily having wed his daughter to one such as he. Alfred tilted his head in inquiry. “Aethelred?”

“My Lord, your favorite is not here. Will he be coming?”

His meaning was clear, of course, since the only ealdorman missing was Uhtred, but his motivation and goal were not. Alfred refused to play whatever game this was meant to be. “Aethelred, if you have something to say, speak plainly and stop wasting our time.”

Aethelred gestured to the Witan. “I am simply concerned that ealdorman Uhtred is not present at this Witan, especially when we meet to discuss the behavior of the Danes at Beamfleot.” He paused a moment, the glimmer of a smile sparking his eyes.

Alfred allowed himself a small frown in turn.

Aethelred continued, “I am concerned, Lord, nothing more, especially given the rumors that spread through this city, through the army, and indeed through the Witan itself.”

Alfred’s jaw clenched briefly, before he forced himself to calm. He was suddenly very aware that his wife had entered with the rest of the Witan and was seated in her usual place. “And what rumors might these be to so concern you for Uhtred’s absence?”

Aethelred effected a shocked expression. “Why, surely you have heard them yourself, Lord. The people say that…you are too fond of Ealdorman Uhtred.” He glanced at Aelswith, but continued anyway. “And now, he has once again failed to attend a Witan to no consequence, it would seem.”

Alfred kept his face carefully blank, though he allowed the intensity of his irritation show in his eyes as he met Aethelred’s gaze. He did not turn to look at his wife. “If you are so worried about the location of the ealdorman, you will no doubt rest assured knowing that Uhtred has returned to Coccham and is not in the city. He could not, therefore, attend the Witan.”

“Lord?” Aethelred asked, a genuine frown forming on his face.

“Speak plainly, Aethelred. I grow fatigued at the obfuscation.”

“Lord, I am not obfuscating. I merely wish to know the validity of the rumors concerning both yourself and Ealdorman Uhtred and if they are perhaps the reason for your…leniency with him in the past. But now you say, seemingly unbothered, that he is gone. While you call yourself God’s King and the city whispers that you have forsaken your wife’s bed to lie with the heathen devil. On the very brink of war with the Danes, while your only daughter is held by those same Danes at Beamfleot, Uhtred goes to Coccham. Can you not see why that is concerning, Lord?”

Alfred inhaled so sharply, his nostrils flared. Aethelred’s little speech had many men shifting in their chairs, a string of nonsenses completely disconnected from each other, but somehow when strung together sounding very damning indeed. For the briefest heartbeat, Alfred wished nothing more than for Uhtred to be here, simply for the pleasure of watching his take this squirming snake to pieces. “What I see, Aethelred, is ambition, greed, and hunger for a power that you do not wield. You speak slander and nonsense. You speak of rumors, disjointed and irrelevant, to suggest weakness in me, when it is, in fact, _your_ weakness that has left us in this position to begin with. If you are so concerned about Uhtred, perhaps, you should go to Coccham yourself and find him. For myself, and for this Witan, we will discuss battle strategies for the attack on the fort.”

Aethelred inclined his head and sat. “Of course, Lord.”

Alfred clenched his jaw. The man had never so blatantly questioned him before. Perhaps, he saw the rumors as a way to destabilize Wessex. Alfred put the thought away to examine at his leisure and turned back to the rest of the Witan. “I have called this meeting today, to share with you some very important news. The brothers, Sigefrid and Erik, are both dead. As for my daughter, our spies say that she has disappeared, but no one can track her. All we know is that she is no longer in Beamfleot. I have sent riders out to search for her, along the river and out into the countryside. When we take Beamfleot, we will dredge the river if we must. But she is not longer in the hands of the Danes, who are now disorganized and leaderless. Haeston is weak and cowardly. No Dane will follow him for long. Even now, men slip away in the night and their numbers decline.

“We will march against Beamfleot and we will crush this threat to Wessex and to Mercia beneath our boot heels.” He looked around at the sea of shocked faces before him and wondered if he should have told them this slowly, over days. Too late now and they did not have the time anyway. He turned his eyes to Aethelred again. “Without Uhtred, who is not needed for this. He has done his part, completing the negotiations with the brothers to buy us time, and so he has gone home to his wife and children. Now, with no further distractions, let us get some actual work done.”

Aethelred’s mouth curled on one side, in an approximation of a smile. Alfred had an overwhelming desire to wring his neck. He swallowed the urge. 

“Lord,” Odda murmured, stepping forward and eyeing them both. “Perhaps, there is a kernel of truth in the…tide of nonsense that flows from Lord Aethelred’s lips. If we are to attack Beamfleot, should we not wait for Uhtred’s return to craft a battle plan? They are Danes, Lord, and he is also a Dane. He would know their minds and their plans, better than we would.”

Alfred tilted his head, glancing at his old friend. “I see what you are saying, Odda, but we cannot wait. For Uhtred will not return.”

“Lord?” Odda said, brow furrowing.

Alfred sighed, as though put upon and ignoring the satisfaction that settle into his chest. He had wanted an opportunity to inform them of Uhtred’s departure, but Odda had handed it to him like a gift. “Ealdorman Uhtred has been released from his oath. He will not return to Winchester before the battle of Beamfleot because he rides North. We do not have need of him. He has shared much with us already about the workings of the mind of the Dane. We have the numbers, discipline, and surprise. All of which the Danes lack. We will plan and we will fight, but most importantly, we will win and in so doing take one step closer to England.”

“Lord, why does Uhtred ride North at a time like this? Why would you allow him to ride North?” Odda’s voice was heavy with confusion and a shiver of unease ran through the room.

“Odda, he is a free man and will do as he wishes. He knows that he is not needed for this and so he chooses to ride North. I did not ask why and he did not tell me. Perhaps he goes to visit his brother. The why does not matter, only that he goes. And so, Odda, Aethelred, can we not get back to the topic that we are meant to be discussing? The attack on Beamfleot must happen as soon as possible. Let us waste no more time on Uhtred.”

Odda stepped back with a deep incline of his head. Aethelred sank deeper into his chair, a curious expression on his face. Alfred could identify concern, easily enough, and anger, but beneath it some sly thing, as though he had achieved his goal by simply forcing Alfred and the Witan to hear it. Or perhaps through some fault or inattention, Alfred had accidentally confirmed Aethelred’s accusations. He did not know and could not spare it his attention to it now, so he turned his focus back to the Witan and battle. He would worry about Uhtred and his own reputation, when Beamfleot had been destroyed.

__________________________

Uhtred, for his part, had already sent Erik on with a message for Ragnar and the hammer that their father had given him, as a token of trust and proof that Erik spoke true. It helped of course that he had sent Sihtric ahead, over a week ago already. Sihtric had been instructed to pass his message to Erik and then head North again, to Bebbenburg, to discover its strength and weakness.

Aethelflaed had argued with every aspect of their plan, especially Erik’s departure and her disguise. But with no viable alternative, Erik had gone and Gisela had taken shears to her hair, cropping it close enough for her to pass as a Saxon boy. His wife had dressed her in breeches and leathers and given her a dagger to wear at her hip. She pushed Aethelflaed into a slouch and smeared the coal that Uhtred sometimes wore around her eyes. 

And so she was transformed into a young boy. Who was, at Uhtred’s insistence, a mute, for her voice was too distinct and high to be a man’s and would not quite pass for a youth coming into manhood either.

Aethelflaed sighed, but agreed. She’d bitten her lips, standing in the Lord’s sleeping area, uneasy in her new clothing, and glanced at Gisela. “Could I speak to you privately, Uhtred?”

Uhtred glanced at Gisela and, at her smile, nodded. His wife passed him, trailing a hand across his back, and retreated to the main floor below. Uhtred smiled after her, somehow always surprised by the extent of her affection and her generosity of spirit.

Aethelflaed cleared her throat, drawing his attention back at her. “May I…ask you a personal question?”

“I have not humped your father, Aethelflaed.” Uhtred said with a sigh.

She inhaled sharply and simply stared at him for a moment. “Alright. I know it’s not my business one way or the other, I just…I…”

Uhtred snorted, shaking his head. “It is no one’s business, but that has not stopped everyone I come across from wondering about it anyway. Your mother believes it to be true.” Aethelflaed frowned, but did not interrupt him. “But then, she does not know that I have smuggled you out of Beamfleot. Alfred will, no doubt, have told the Witan by now that you have escaped and fled. That is what all of Wessex will believe. The full plan is known only to Alfred and me, and that is the way it will stay. The fewer people who know anything about any of it, the better. And so people will talk and you must ignore them.”

She nodded, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Who am I to be, then? While I cannot be myself.”

Uhtred considered this. “Eadric is as good a name as any other. As a boy, you look younger than you are, which is a problem. You would be too young to join a fighting force. Unless…” He crossed his arms, tapping his lips unconsciously as he examined her. With her short hair and her high cheekbones… “I will tell Finan to put it around that you’re my bastard. It would explain why I’ve accepted someone so young and why you would be with the fighting men and not with the younger boys at the back of the caravan.”

Aethelflaed scowled. “You’re not old enough to be my father, Uhtred.”

Uhtred laughed at her petulance. “Yes, Lady, I am. I am sorry to disabuse you of the notion, but I was humping women before you were born and could have pupped one. That I didn’t is likely a gift from the gods. Or, as your father would say, a miracle.”

The scowl didn’t fade from her face, but she sighed aggressively and stomped off downstairs. Uhtred followed, chuckling. Finan was waiting for them in the hall and frowned in confusion at the boy leading Uhtred out of the family quarters. The Irishman glanced at Gisela, who smiled tightly. 

“Finan, this is Eadric. He’s going to be traveling with us. I want him in Osferth’s charge. You understand me?”

“Yes, Lord.” Finan said, slowly. “But, um…isn’t he a little young to be—“

“His mother is dead and so he came to me, Finan. I will not force Gisela to deal with him.”

Finan’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. “Oh. I…I see. I’ll take him to Osferth, Lord. We’ll all look after him.”

Uhtred pressed his lips tight and flared his nostrils. “And Finan…”

The Irishman’s brow furrowed in concern. “Lord?”

“He can’t speak.”

“I don’t take your meaning, Lord. Why not?”

Uhtred sighed and turned to face away from Finan, afraid that he would be unable to pull off the lie. “He’s mute, Finan. Mute, but literate.”

“Oh.” Finan’s voice was soft as a prayer and wounded. 

Uhtred hated it. He hated himself for lying and Alfred for forcing it. He hated every minute of every day he spent lying to nearly every person he loved. He was immeasurably grateful that he had Gisela in his confidence on this. He wasn’t sure he could have managed otherwise. For a moment, he thought of Alfred, alone in the palace, surrounded by people he must deceive with no one to rely on and no one to talk to. His heart twisted in his chest and his lungs felt tight. It was too late now to do anything about any of it. It was much too late now.


	8. Chapter 8

Uhtred wasn’t sure how long he spent, staring blindly at the far wall of the Hall with Finan at his back and Aethelflaed standing silently at his side, but it was long enough for Finan to approach him and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Uhtred…”

Uhtred turned back to him and offered a weak smile. “You must try to keep him away from Beocca and therefore Thyra, when they arrive.”

Finan frowned and cocked an eyebrow.

“The priest is angry enough as it is about Alfred. Let’s try not to give him another reason to hate me.”

Finan rolled his eyes. “He does not hate you, Uhtred. He’s your father, so he’s likely just disappointed in your philandering ways. The boy won’t probably be that much of a shock, I’d wager, but we’ll do as you ask.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Uhtred smiled, reaching out to grasp his shoulder in a brief squeeze. He glanced at Aethelflaed, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Eadric, do as Finan says. Stay away from the priest and from my wife, and if you have any problems, you come directly to me. Understood?”

Aethelflaed nodded, her jaw tightening and her eyes dropping to the floor. She did not protest nor make any sound when Finan herded her from the hall with the briefest glance at Gisela, who had come to stand at Uhtred’s side.

“Sihtric, at least, will suspect something is amiss when he rejoins us.” Gisela murmured, slipping an arm around Uhtred’s waist.

Uhtred sighed, dropping his own over her shoulders and pulling her in tight. “He will not. He has instruction to move on to Bebbenburg after giving his message to Ragnar. We will not see him again until it is no longer an issue. Eadric will not accompany us that far North. I will leave him in your care once we reach Dunholm.”

“Uhtred?” Gisela frowned. “Will Thyra not—“

Uhtred shook his head, interrupting the question. “It will not matter. Beocca will be with us to take Bebbenburg and so not at Dunholm to be told about it. By then he will likely suspect some foul play, as Erik will not doubt fight with us. And at some point the deception will have to be revealed. The lie will have its consequence.”

Gisela nodded, looking troubled, but did not say more on the matter. Uhtred sighed again and buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair. She huffed into his ear and murmured, “You should find the time and tell Finan. He can protect her better if he knows who she is. And he is yours to his very bones. He will not breath a word of it.”

Uhtred nodded against her face, but did not answer. He thought the same, especially as life on the road did not lend itself to modesty. Hiding the fact that Eadric was a woman would be no easy task for her to complete alone. But Finan enjoyed his ale as much as the next man. If there was even a glimmer of a chance that he would drink enough to loosen his tongue…

He felt the ghost of a hand on his back, gentle across fresh lash mark, and a Irish bur in his ear as Finan begged for Uhtred to stay strong for him, to live for Halig, to remember himself. The memory jarred him, but strengthened his conviction. He resolved to do as Gisela suggested and tell Finan the truth. Perhaps, all of it.

________________________

The plans had been laid and Aethelred had sent to Mercia for more men. Everything was in place to attack Beamfleot on the very day that Uhtred was to ride North. The poetry of this was not lost on Alfred. Neither was his increasing agitation, which had no outlet and no easily identifiable cause. Or rather, he would have liked to delude himself that it had no cause. But he could not willfully blind himself to his motivations nor desires. 

He was going to miss Uhtred Ragnarson more acutely than even he had anticipated. It had been years now, of Uhtred living contentedly a mere day or two’s ride from Winchester. The royal retinue had made the trip to Uhtred’s estate at Coccham several times and Uhtred himself made the trip back to Winchester even more. While Uhtred remained there, there was always the promise of his presence whenever Alfred wished to see him.

Now, however, given the nature of their plans, Alfred might never see the man again and the very thought of it twisted in his chest, as painful as a knife between his ribs. It was not a pain that he could share. Not even with his confessor, who would himself be leaving with Uhtred, perhaps never to return. 

Alfred paused, coming to an abrupt stop in the center of the palace hallway, as a realization hit him. If Beocca was leaving with Uhtred, he was likely to stay with him when Uhtred conquered Northumbria, which meant that he would be gone within two days time. If there was ever to be anyone with whom he could share this pain, it would be Beocca who believed that his relationship with Uhtred was…closer than it should be. 

Alfred could barely allow himself to think of it in more concrete terms, especially not in the vulgar way that Uhtred himself had. The whole idea made a slick, slithering feeling settle into Alfred’s guts.

He pushed the thought aside and found the nearest guard to send for Beocca.

It was hardly a tick of one of his candles before Beocca appeared at the chapel door, concern in his eyes. “Lord King, you sent for me.”

Alfred smiled, merely a small curl of his mouth, and gestured Beocca into the room. The priest closed the door behind him and came to join Alfred on his pew. “Father Beocca, I will be losing you today or tomorrow, will I not?”

Beocca frowned and shook his head. “No, Lord. I will be riding North with Uhtred, but I did not plan to stay there. I should be back, perhaps within the year.”

Alfred shook his head and turned his eyes to the cross hanging over the alter. “I have a feeling, Father Beocca, that that will not hold true.”

“Lord?” Alfred could almost hear the scowl on Beocca’s face, but he did not turn to see it.

“I fear that Uhtred will not return to me from the North and, if that is so, then you should stay by his side. He…He has a good heart, Father Beocca, but is often too quick with his sword or his fist and will have need of your tempering influence.”

Beocca exhaled and was silent for a moment, before saying quietly, “Lord, you know Uhtred has years of experience running an estate. Bebbenburg is much larger than Coccham, it is true, but they are much the same. But…You speak as though Uhtred will be…more than the Lord of Bebbenburg.”

Alfred smiled at that. The good father was perceptive as always. He would not tell the man of their motivations, but it would not go amiss, he thought, to warn Beocca of their plans, at least in part. “There are three seats of power in Northumbria, Beocca, three smaller kingdom, led by Eoferwic, Dunholm, and Bebbenburg. Tell me that you believe that the brothers Ragnarson will be content to allow Eoferwic and its accompanying lands and people to be mismanaged by a weakling and a coward.”

Alfred did turn to look at Beocca then and the man gaped at him. “Lord, you think that Uhtred will make himself King of Northumbria? But…why would you allow him to go North? Why free him from his oath?”

And that was the question of the day, Alfred thought wryly. For without Aethelflaed, what reason could he give? His jaw clenched and he thought briefly of the long stretch of hall outside the chapel, of the tendency for his wife and his nephew both to listen at doorways. “The pull of equality is a dangerous thing, Father, and the desire to see someone that you love happy, equally so. When they are combined, it makes a man do foolish things.” He said, voice soft, and knew that it would be misunderstood.

But it was no lie. His need to allow Aethelflaed what happiness she might grasp and his desire to have Uhtred as his equal had proved too powerful a temptation for him to resist. That it benefited Wessex and ultimately England had sealed his fate, all their fates.

Beocca stared at him with widened eyes. “You love him, Lord.”

Hearing it allowed made something deep inside Alfred’s chest crack and crumble to dust. Some final wall he had constructed between himself and the full force of his feelings for Uhtred, who he had loved and despised both since nearly the moment they had met. “Yes, Beocca, I fear I do. And,” He said, swallowing passed the hard lump that had settled in his throat. “I now fear that I will never see him again, never speak with him, never…” He feel silent, unsure how to finish, but willing to allow Beocca to supply whatever verb he chose.

Beocca’s cheeks pinked in a blush and Alfred felt a bubble of hysterical laughter climb his throat. How had he trapped himself in this lie? How had he allowed everyone around him to think that he…that he lay with Uhtred as a man would his wife, when he had barely ever touched the man in all the years he’d known him? A single embrace and the every day contact of living in the marshes so long ago that it felt like an eternity, more dream than memory. He had, likely, less knowledge of Uhtred than half the men of the army, given the man’s lack of shame and a soldier’s lack of privacy. And yet, everyone in the palace believed that he was intimately familiar with Uhtred’s body. That slithering thing curled tighter in his gut.

“You are, Father Beocca, perhaps the only person with whom I may speak on this topic and soon you will be gone as well.” Alfred could not prevent the wistfulness of his voice, nor did he bother trying.

“I do understand, Lord, to a point. I love him too. Not as you do, but…I have watched him grow from a stubborn child into a headstrong man and I am as proud of who he has become as if he were my own son. You speak true, Lord, when you say his heart is good. Would I prefer that he convert and accept the One True God? Yes. I wish it with my very soul, but I would not change who he is, Lord. For then, he would not be Uhtred Ragnarson of Bebbenburg and perhaps we would not love him so.”

Alfred laughed, a short, quiet sound, and found that his eyes were damp with tears. “Indeed, Beocca, you are correct as always. His pagan ways and his insolence are…part of his charm, though I am loath to admit it.”

Beocca smiled. “Lord, though you may not see him for a long time, I do not believe that he…that he will allow himself to be parted from you for too long. Uhtred is not a man to deny himself what he truly desires.” Beocca paused a moment and bobbed his head in a gesture of concession. “Unless it is for someone else’s good. And deny himself…this would benefit only your wife, who he has never cared for and who hates him in return.”

Alfred smiled at Beocca’s fumbling attempt to reassure him without straying too close to the thing that neither of them would acknowledge. Beocca, no doubt, because he was embarrassed or disgusted by it, and Alfred because it was a lie and he would not lie in a house of God if he could avoid it.

“And, Lord,” Beocca continued after a moment of silence between them. “Uhtred can both read and write.”

Alfred blinked, jarred at the unexpected revelation. He turned to look at Beocca with wide eyes. “He is literate? How did I not know this?”

Beocca nodded. “He is. I taught him myself. His hand is very poor and his Greek is not coherent, but his Latin is perfectly passable. I know that he has not forgotten because I have seen him read, Lord, recently. Not much, and never often, but he can.” Beocca stopped, appearing deeply conflicted. Alfred waited, still reeling from this new thing he had learned of Uhtred on the cusp of losing him. “Lord, if you wished to write him a private note, he would be able to read it himself. I would carry it to him for you, if you wish.”

Alfred smiled at the priest, affection warming him. “I know how much that offer pained you, Father Beocca, given the nature of this discussion and my relationship with Uhtred. I appreciate it more than I can tell you. And I will avail myself of it. If you could allow me an hour or two…I know that you depart for Coccham today, but…”

Beocca bowed his head. “Of course, Lord. I will leave you to see to our final preparations, to make sure Thyra has everything settled, and I will return.”

Alfred nodded and offered him a small smile as he left. He would write Uhtred a letter, some final communication between them before their parting. War was treacherous and Alfred’s own health not guaranteed, and so he would not allow this opportunity to pass him by without seizing it. 

Now he was only left with what to say.


	9. Chapter 9

Uhtred had taken nearly too long to gather his resolve and take Finan far enough from the hall and surrounding homes to speak privately. He had proposed a hunt, on the day before they were to depart, and Finan had readily agreed. 

Uhtred had led him deep into the woods and out the other side to a meadow atop a small hill, a meadow that was both far afield and exposed enough to see anyone approach them. At its rounded peak, Uhtred set down his bow in a stretch of open grass and sat. Finan immediately followed suit, settling himself to face the opposite direction, always keenly aware of the possibility of ambush.

It made Uhtred smile. 

“Lord?” Finan said after a long moment, the question clear in his voice.

“Finan…there is something that you must know about Eadric before we depart for Dunholm.”

Finan nodded and looked out over the tree line, purposefully not meeting Uhtred’s gaze. “He is too old to be yours, Lord. Or too old to be yours of a Saxon woman. And he is no Dane.”

Uhtred’s face twitched, nearly a smile. “Yes.”

Finan’s jaw went tight and he nodded, but waited for Uhtred to continue.

“He is Alfred’s.”

Finan frowned, turning to meet Uhtred’s gaze. “Another bastard, Lord? Do you collect them now? Do you warm his bed and nursemaid his children?”

Uhtred’s breath went still in his lungs and he tensed. “This is not a joke.”

Finan’s eyes were hard and flat. “And I was not joking, Lord…Uhtred.”

Uhtred exhaled, silent for a long moment. “Finan, I have never asked you for an oath before. You are here by choice and you are a free man, always. But…”

“Uhtred, you know that I will swear to you this very moment and everyday until one of us dies. I have been your man since the slaver’s ship, Lord, and you well know it.”

Uhtred’s chest went tight and his eyes stung. “Finan, I wish I knew what I had done to deserve such unfailing devotion from you, so that I could continue on with it.” Finan shook his head, opening his mouth to answer, but Uhtred laid a hand on his arm, silencing him. “I will not ask an oath of service. I will never ask that of you. But now, I would ask you for an oath of _silence_. What I am about to tell you must go no further. You can speak of it to no one. Not Osferth or Clapa or Sihtric when we see him again. Not my wife. Not anyone. Not even to me, unless there is absolute certainty that we are alone. Finan, lives and kingdoms rest on your silence.”

Finan’s eyes were round with an almost reverent kind of awe, his earlier suspicion vanished. He nodded. “I do swear, Lord. By God and upon the Holy Book, upon my sword and your life, I do swear to keep my silence on this and I shall drink no more than a drop of ale from now until the end of my days to keep my silence, Lord.”

Uhtred felt all the tension leave him, a rush of relief flooding his veins so powerful than he thought he might cry. “The boy is Aethelflaed.”

“What?” Finan gasped, back straightening as though struck by lightening. “I thought she’d been taken back to Winchester? I thought that was what Beocca had come for?”

Uhtred shook his head. “The boy is Aethelflaed and she will be with us tomorrow when we leave.”

Finan stared. “Lord, what are you doin’?”

Uhtred slumped back against the ground and stared up at the lazy clouds, sluggish in their trek across the sky. “There are plans, Finan. Plans and more plans.”

“Lord?”

“I am to be a King after all.” He sat up again, hands clenching into fists. “Damn that man.” He shook his head and look up to meet Finan’s eyes. “We ride north to Dunholm, to collect my brother and his army. Then north again to Bebbenburg. When we have taken my ancestral seat, we will turn south again to take Eoferwic and to kill the Coward King, Guhtred. And take the North.”

“Why now?” Finan tilted his head, eyes narrowed.

“Because Alfred wills it to be so. Guthred is weak, useless. No more a King than Aethelred is.”

“So you will take all of Northumbria?”

Uhtred nodded. “If Ragnar swears to me, than yes. I will take and hold all of Northumbria. Alfred will strengthen the bond between Mercia and Wessex, or take Mercia entirely. Who knows? But he will hold the South and I will hold the North. At which point, Cornwallum, Wales, and East Angelia will have a choice to make.”

“Between the two ways of life, Lord? Dane and Saxon?” Finan asked, frowning.

Uhtred shook his head, weary of politics and weary of plans, but somehow not of the man that made them. He was struck, more strongly than he’d liked that it was possible he’d never see Alfred again. He was abandoning the home he’d made for himself and his people here in Coccham for a dream of England that was not his own, but for which he’d fought and would fight until his last breath. What had Alfred done to him?

“No, Finan. Northumbria will eventually become part of Alfred’s England. He will wed Stiorra to Edward and unite the Kingdoms through our children.”

“And of your son? What of Young Uhtred?” 

“My son will take his place upon my throne when I am dead, but by then the Kingdoms will be irrevocably linked and those ties will only grow stronger. Alfred will not be the first King of England. Nor, perhaps, will Edward, but Edward’s son or his son’s son will. The entire continent will join or fall to Alfred’s dream of England.”

“Why, Lord? Why agree to such madness?” Finan was shaking his head, confusion on his face.

“Because, for all that Alfred is sometimes an annoying piece of weasel shit, he is clever and he sees beyond what is to what should be. He is right. The Danes will not stop until they have conquered the whole continent and slaughtered as many Saxons as they can. The Saxons are afraid of this. But if we unite a Danish kingdom and a Saxon one through marriage, we will have a chance at peace.”

“You have discussed this with him at length then, Lord?” Finan asked, his brow furrowing as though puzzling something out.

Uhtred nodded.

“The reason for the rumors. Your plottin’ is the reason for the rumors.” Finan’s voice went breathy with awe and delight. “You have been plottin’ in secret, Uhtred Ragnarson. You have been plotting in secret to take a Kingdom on the word fo Alfred of Wessex, who holds your oath, and because of that the world believes you’re lovers.”

A muscle in Uhtred’s jaw jumped, but he tried to keep his face relaxed. Tension wouldn’t help and would just give him a headache. They had more important things to worry about than rumors. “Yes.” He sighed. “Because Alfred’s wife cannot mind her business or keep her mouth shut. I would take her head, if I thought I could get away with it.”

Finan smiled at him, warm and secret. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Uhtred sighed again, louder. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“But why put you on that throne in the first place, Uhtred? Why make a…rival of you, when he could keep you close instead? You might not warm his bed in true, but you lead his armies better than any man.”

Uhtred huffed a laugh at that and dug the fingers of his sword hand into the ground. “Aethelflaed. Alfred will dissolve her marriage to that weasel from Mercia after a time and Aethelflaed will marry Erik. It is to give them a safe haven. He offered me Bebbenburg if I could keep her safe. That’s why his men appear daily and mix in with our own. But Northumbria was just…Alfred’s mad desire to create a single Christian kingdom for God. Why he thought a heathen would make a suitable King for part of it, I won’t even try to understand. But Finan, no one knows. No one but Alfred and I know the whole of it. And now you. Gisela knows only most of it, but she is expecting me to declare myself King of Bernicia, which is my ancestral seat of power anyway. She does not know the plans to take Eoferwic and the rest of the North. Ragnar will be told some of it and Aethelflaed as well. But no one else knows even half as much as Gisela, nor will they until it is done.”

“That is madness, Lord.”

“I know. I know it is madness. I have told Aethelflaed that it is madness and I have told Alfred the same. Neither listens to me. That much at least, has not changed.”

“No soul in this life or the next with hear any of it from me, Uhtred. I will say nothing. I will swear it every day from now until we reach Bebbenburg. I will not be responsible for the death of that…young boy. The men already believe he is your bastard, from before the Lady Mildreth.”

“Good. That’s good. Now all that is left to do is to keep her apart from Beocca and Thyra. She cannot be allowed to bath until we reach Dunholm, Finan. She passes for a boy well enough, but the moment she takes off her clothes to wash, we are finished.”

“So, she will not bath until them, Lord.”

“I wish you luck convincing her of that, Finan. She is a princess.”

Finan grinned and shook his head. “No, Lord. _He_ is not.”

Uhtred conceded that with a nod and a returning grin. “It is a relief to discuss it. And to discuss it under the open sky, instead of hidden away in Alfred’s bed chamber.”

Finan laughed, gleeful. “That much was true, Lord? You have been spending your time in the King’d bed chamber?”

“It is the only place in the palace where it is not possible to be overheard. There is an antechamber to lock and his bedroom door also has a lock. Double the privacy unless of course the person is already within. That was a mistake. I was lax and should have known that someone was there. We should have considered that Aelswith might be there, given the lateness of the hour. But who hides away in the King’s bed chamber? She claimed that she was merely waiting for her Lord, but…there were already whispers by then. Someone must have seen me entering or leaving his chambers, a guard or servant. I suspect she was waiting to catch him out, to catch us both, or to dispel the rumor. Which it certainly did not do.”

Finan’s smile grew sly. “Was Beocca right then? He begs?”

“Finan.” Uhtred’s voice was tight and clipped, a warning.

“Uhtred.” Finan replied, giving not an inch.

Uhtred, likewise, refused to bow to Finan’s teasing. Something dark and hot coiled low in Uhtred’s belly, made up in part of anger, of fear, and of some shadowed desire to hold such a truth in his hand and to crush it between his fingers. He did not think of Alfred in that way. He never had and refused to allow it of himself now. The ache in his chest at the thought of never seeing him again was for a close friend, a sharp mind, and a quick wit, nothing more. 

If Alfred even considered him to be a friend, which was not at all clear to Uhtred. 

A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, sweeping away everything in its path and he dropped back to the ground, looking up at the sky and thinking instead of Coccham, of the land that Mildreth had left him when she fled to the nunnery, of the people that he would be forced to abandon to fate. 

He would need to leave someone in charge of the estate, would need to appoint an heir to take his place when he left tomorrow. Why had he not considered this before? Why had he not planned this trip better? Alfred had not mentioned what would happen to Uhtred’s lands in Wessex. 

Perhaps, Uhtred could retain them. Perhaps, he could relinquish only his title of Ealdorman and retain the lands. He could, in return, gift Alfred lands in Northumbria as a suitable trade. It would further tie the kingdoms together, for each to own a small parcel of the other. He would discuss it with Beocca when they reached Dunholm. 

For now, he let the thought go and stared up into the sky, allowing himself to relax for one brief moment before the oncoming storm hit him hard. Before he would give up everything he had gained in this life for the chance of something better.


	10. Chapter 10

Uhtred and Finan sat in a comfortable silence for a long while after, enjoying this last moment of peace. Finally, Uhtred groaned his way to sitting. Finan laughed at him and teased him about his age, but did not rise when Uhtred made no move to do so.

Uhtred sighed, glancing up at the height of the sun. “We should go.”

Finan nodded, but still didn’t move. “Uhtred, I have seen you bowing under the weight of this secret you’ve been carrying, but…I am here. Always. For anything. Any burden that you carry, I would take for you. I will be at your back for all my life. Protecting you. Serving. You have to know that.”

Uhtred shook his head and pulled Finan forward to rest their foreheads together. “Never serving. You are my right hand and part of my heart. You are the reason that I survived that slave ship. You gave me your strength. You were strong for me when I could not be. When I was little more than a hound, you were my humanity. For that, you will always have a part of me, a place at my table, and a share of any success I might achieve, that we might achieve. And my protection in anyway you have need of it. But you will never serve.” 

They breathed each other’s air for a moment, savoring the closeness, before Uhtred drew back. “Come. There is much to do and Gisela will have my balls if we are not there to help. And we still have not caught anything.”

Finan laughed and they dragged each other to their feet. When they were upright, Uhtred laid a hand on his arm, stopping him from turning for home. “Finan. Given…the rumors, it is possible, probable even, that others will spread.”

“Lord?”

“You and I are close and travel together more often than not. So you should be prepared for whispers, like the ones of Alfred and I.”

Finan grinned, choking down a chuckle. “Uhtred, you say that as though there have not been rumors about us for years already.”

Uhtred scowled. “What?”

“Lord, you were sold to a slaver and you returned from it with me in tow. I have not left your side since. I did not go back to Ireland or try to find my family. We go hunting together and disappear for days at a time. Of course there are rumors. Just as there are about you and Sihtric, and you and Osferth, though those are more uneasy now. And of Sihtric and I. And the three of us together. It is the way of people. I do not care. None of us do. If I cared, I would have left…No, well, that’s not true. I could have done something to dispel them, though, and I did not. I am not ashamed to stay by your side. I will hold my place proudly and damn whoever might complain. Our souls were bonded on that ship and I refuse to tear them asunder.”

“Finan, you are always too good a man for me. Too good a friend.”

“And don’t you forget it, Lord.” He slung an arm across Uhtred’s shoulder and turned them both. “Come, let’s find some game or else the rumors will only grow.”

Uhtred slipped his own arm around Finan’s waist in half a hug. He smiled softly at the Irishman before turning his eyes to the trees and spotting a figure just on the edge of the meadow.

“Shit.” Uhtred muttered, recognizing Father Beocca even as a distance. 

He relinquished his grip on Finan, who dropped his arm and moved back a little. They shared a glance and grimly set off across the meadow.

“Again? Is this a sin you practice often, Uhtred?” Beocca called, voice carrying loud across the open ground. 

Uhtred’s face went dark, cold. A shiver ran down Finan’s spine at the sight of it and he made sure to place himself between Uhtred and the good father. 

“And what sin might that be, Beocca?” Uhtred’s voice was as cold as his look.

Beocca’s eyebrows rose and his expression grew belligerent. “Adultery, of course. Your wife, the mother of your children, slaves day and night to prepare for the trip that you have planned. Yet, you take a day in the woods to relax and lay in a meadow. With…another lover? I fear I do not know you anymore, Uhtred.” He glanced at Finan, whose mouth stretched into a feral smile.

Uhtred laughed, an echoing burst of sound that was neither mirthful nor kind. “Your imagination takes flight, Beocca. Watch what accusations you throw.”

“I do nothing but observe. I repeat only what I see.” Beocca said, chin coming up.

“And what did you see, father? Two men sittin’ in a field? One friend embrace another? Did you see anything that you would not see Uhtred do with others? With yourself, even? It seems to me, father, that you are trying to convince yourself of somethin’ that isn’t there. To explain somethin’ that you don’t understand.” Finan shook his head. “If you did not see us humpin’ nor kissin’, and you did not, then you can hardly claim that we’re lovers.”

Beocca’s jaw worked, for a moment, as though he was chewing his tongue, but he said nothing. Finally Finan shook his head and moved passed Beocca, with a final glance at Uhtred. The priest had made his own bed, Finan thought, let him lie in it. “I’m going to hunt, Lord. I’ll see you back at the hall. Hopefully, you can set straight whatever fever has taken the good Father’s brain.” He said, and left them alone.

Uhtred, his face still and gaunt, watched Beocca with dead eyes. Beocca flinched when he met that gaze and dropped his own. “Uhtred, I…I apologize. Finan’s right. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes,” Uhtred agreed, voice as flat and hollow as his gaze. “It was.”

“I just…I find myself adrift. I do not understand anything anymore. Not you, nor the King, nor the Queen, nor your wife. No one is behaving as I would predict them to. Gisela defends your behavior and your character both. The King tells me he loves you and writes you a letter. The Queen wishes you dead, which is nothing new, but does nothing to further it, simply roams the palace growing more hateful by the day. And you…You travel north to declare yourself King of Northumbria, but instead of preparing, you lay about in fields. What am I to think? What am I to do? Uhtred, help me understand this.” Beocca’s voice, his face, his hands grew more frantic the longer he spoke. When he fell silent, he was panting.

Uhtred stared at him for a long moment. “Alfred told you he loved me?”

Beocca blinked, mouth dropping open. He stared at Uhtred for a long moment, before he snorted, twice, and then burst into helpless laughter. “Of course.” He said, when he managed to get his mirth under control. His eyes sparkled as Uhtred had not seen them do in weeks. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. If there was ever one truth in the world, it is that Uhtred of Bebbenburg will always be too in love with love.”

Uhtred couldn’t stop a small smile from forming on his face. “So you have told me… Beocca, I am sorry for what the Queen has said and for what she has done. I never intended to…hurt her or anyone. And Gisela…well, I never understand her for more than an hour at a time, and that only when she is sleeping. She seems not to care, has encouraged me in it even. I cannot help you understand what I do not understand myself.”

Beocca shook his head, face tense again, but gentler. “Never attempt to understand women, Uhtred. For no man can. I won’t pretend to approve of what you are doing with the King, but I can see that it hurts you both to part.”

Uhtred looked away. It was not a lie that it hurt, their parting, his going north, but not in the way the Beocca thought. Or…perhaps in just that way. Uhtred wasn’t sure he even knew how he felt about Alfred anymore.

Beocca reached out and laid a hand on Uhtred’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “He did not know that you could read.”

Uhtred looked up, surprised. “But he has sent notes to Coccham before. Who did he think read them? The pig man?”

Beocca shrugged. “Perhaps the scribe? I do not know, but he obviously did not believe you read them yourself. I told him otherwise and he sent me back with a private letter for you. I have not opened it, as I promised I would not, but by the weight of it, it is quite long.” He reached into his robes, to some inner pocket, and drew out a thick packet, bound in heavy twine and stamped with the King’s seal.

Uhtred took it from him, running his fingertips over the wax and wondering what on earth Alfred thought he was doing. He shook himself and tucked the letter away, but not before he caught Beocca’s gaze on him. The priest had a curious glint in his eye, as though perhaps understanding was coming to him, for all his protests otherwise.

“Well, if you are no longer angry and will no longer accuse me of humping everyone I’ve ever met, we should return to the hall or at least find something to shoot so Gisela won’t have my head for coming back empty handed.”

Beocca smiled, sheepishly. “Not everyone, Uhtred. I never accused you of trying to hump Aethelwold.”

Uhtred shuddered at the very thought of it. “Thank the gods for that. Now, Aethelred on the other hand, a snake in the grass if ever there was one, but he does have such a face.”

Beocca snorted, his nose wrinkling. “There is a reason they call him Aethelred the Pretty. But don’t let Alfred catch you talking like that. He has reason enough already to ring the boy’s pretty neck. He doesn’t need more.”

Uhtred’s eyes sparked with interest. “Yes…Yes. That’s right. I missed a Witan. Tell me.”

_____________________________

Alfred, with the armies of Mercia and Wessex under his command, attacked the fort at Beamfleot the day that Uhtred rode out for Dunholm. It was Unseasonabley cool that day, but sunny and still. A flaming arrow flew true, landing on thatched roof of the main hall. A subsequent rain of fired arrows, and soon every building within the fort’s walls was burning. The Danes inside did not spend long attempting to save the structures, instead abandoning the fort and running directly into the shield wall of Alfred’s army. The battle, if you could call it that, last barely two hours before all the Danes were dead. 

Before the sun began to dip passed its peak, Beamfleot belonged to Wessex once more and Alfred had sent a contingent of men to Lunden to take back that city as well, though the Danes hadn’t been seen returning after the brothers’ feint there.

Aethelred noted that the soldiers who were sent to Lunden were, almost to a man, of Wessex, but he kept silent and bided his time. He could air his grievances before the Witan. What he had yet to realize was that he had been preemptively outmaneuvered. 

Alfred had weeks passed sent spies amongst the Mercian lords and so he knew that his own Witan would strip Aethelred of his power. He had never been confirmed as King of Mercia and so they would withhold it now. Realizing this, Alfred had personally invited each ealdorman of Mercia to join the Witan of Wessex. And so, when the army returned to Winchester, when Alfred in his blood strained armor rode into the city at its head, the Witans of both kingdoms were gathered on the steps of the Palace. 

Alfred pulled his horse up to the palace steps and dismounted without assistance. When his feet touched the ground, he took a moment to gather himself, fighting a flare of pain in his middle and a brief swell of lightheadedness at the abrupt change in height. He took a breath and turned to the waiting lords.

“Wessex and Mercia return victorious. Together, we have stamped out yet another Danish stronghold and now Lunden and Beamfleot are Saxon once more. Repairs will be completed to any building destroy by the Danish occupation and the battle both and soon, both will stand tall and proud once more.” A loud cheer went up around the square, lords and common folk alike joyed by the victory and proud of their king. 

Alfred could feel the approval wash over the city. He knew that this day, new whispers would fill dark corners at alehouses and kitchen tables all across Winchester. They would no longer accuse him of being weak, too beholden to the whims of his Danish lover. Now, they would whisper of the King who went to battle for them, for his daughter, to keep Wessex safe. Alfred would make use of the good will while it lasted.

He nodded to the men gathered on the steps and raised a hand in welcome. “Now, gentlemen, shall we adjourn to the throne room? I believe there is much to discuss.”

There were nods and smiles. When Alfred reached the top of the steps, he turned back to the people. “The silver that was gathered to pay the ransom will be returned. You have done Wessex a great service. Your sacrifice and willingness to give of yourselves for your Kingdom will be remembered and it will be honored. Let us mourn the dead today, let us take time to grieve and to pray, to thank God for his goodness, but two days hence, we will feast! There will be food and ale for everyone in the city. Together, we will raise a cup to our victory, to your sacrifice, and to Aethelflaed, who brought us together as one people, together as Saxons. Together, for Wessex, for Mercia, for England!”

Another cheer went up among the common folk, loud and long and jubilant. Alfred smiled for them and then turned to lead the way into the hall.


	11. Chapter 11

The throne room was filled to bursting with the lords of both Wessex and Mercia crowded inside, but the mood was joyous, light and buoyed further by the Danish blood drying on Alfred’s mail. Aethelred’s scowl was a single dark cloud on such a clear day. Taking his place on the dais, Alfred surveyed the chattering lords, mixing together into one homogenous body and knew that Uhtred had been right. This was a step toward England, toward unity.

And, Alfred thought swallowing a smile, toward burying his son-in-law so deep even the worms would not find him.

“Lords!” Alfred called, stretching his arms wide to encompass the whole group. He could feel Odda and Aelswith take their places at his back and then finally allowed that smile to grow. “Welcome. As you may have noticed, we are greater in number than ever before. The Mercian Witan has graciously joined us to celebrate our combined victory over the Danes and our latest step toward lasting peace. And so, I wish to extend my greetings to you, Lords of Mercia. You are most welcome here.”

The room fell hushed and then silent as he spoke. “As I predicted at the last gathering, we have successfully taken Beamfleot and Lunden both, crushing the Danes there under our heels. With Sigefrid and Erik dead, and now Haeston as well, with all their men captured or killed, the threat of the Dane grows smaller by the day.”

“But Lord,” Aethelred’s man called, standing. “What of the Danes at Dunholm? After such a victory, should we not look to our next success?”

Alfred nearly laughed at the absolutely transparent ploy. Dunholm was not even on the Wessex border. Nor did it border Mercia, which meant it was, by no means, the closest threat to either. “Lord Aldhelm, we have only just now marched back from battle. Let us not stretch ourselves so thin as to worry about marching on a fortress that resides so far to our north, which is more properly the worry of Guhtred of Cumbraland than ours. Dunholm is, for now, no threat to us, nor to our peace.”

“Meaning no disrespect, Lord, but if you did not call the Mercian Witan here to discuss our next joint conquest, why are the lords of Mercia so far from home?”

Alfred smiled at him and tilted his head. “Because, Aldhelm, there is much for our two kingdoms to discuss that effects us both. The Mercian Witan has yet to confirm its Lord, its next King, and so I could not simply seek a meeting with the Lord of Mercia. To avoid confusion or offense, I thought it best to invite the entire Mercian Witan instead. We are joined in cause and in interest and now we are joined in place as well. We are all friends here, allies and comrades in arms, and we would do well to remember that.”

“Forgive me, Lord, but I am uneasy at this talk of unity between our two kingdoms. I am wary as it sounds as though you intend to make one kingdom of us.”

Alfred shook his head, the smile fading from his face, though not from his heart. “Nonsense, Aethelred. I have no intention of forcing our two kingdoms into a single whole. Wessex would never act against Mercia, in diplomacy or war. We share a common interest, a common goal, we are kin of a sort. My own wife is Mercia and my daughter, may God protect where she is now, married a Mercian. What I do intend to do is listen to this Witan and the will of the Lords as to how we proceed from here.” He turned out to examine the crowd of men, who were now all focused solely on him. “What is to be the consequence of these passed few months? Damage has been done to the bond between Wessex and Mercia and I am anxious that this damage should be healed.”

As Alfred sat, a man toward the back of the room stood. He was tall and straight, his angular face was youthful, though not so youthful as to be bare-cheeked. Something in his face or the pout of his mouth reminded Alfred of Uhtred, whose mother he abruptly remembered was Mercian. Alfred pushed the thought aside and focused on the Lord.

If he remembered rightly, the young Lord might be his best chance for unseating his son-in-law. He was sympathetic to Wessex, according to Alfred’s spies. “Lord King, Lords of the Witan, I know that I am young and that what wisdom I could offer is foolishness compare to the experience and knowledge of those gathered here. But I am compelled by both my conscience and by my devotion to Mercia to stand and speak. My father sacrificed his life in the battle at Ethandun, leaving me to take his place, but he often spoke of the Warrior Spirit and the steel will of the King of Wessex. He often admired King Alfred’s sharp mind and decisive action in times of trial. My father’s wisdom was proven today at Beamfleot as it is proven every day, no doubt, right here in this throne room. I have long prayed to God that the next Lord of Mercia would show similar strength of character and of mind, but…You asked for the consequences of the last few months? Lord, they must be that Lord Aethelred is prevented from taking a seat upon the Throne of Mercia, for he has none of the traits that my father so admired in you. We must act or else we will succumb to Aethelred’s weakness, his foolishness. Our relationship has been damaged because of him. It was only the strength of Alfred and of Wessex that saved Mercia from utter ruin.” The young man paused and let his gaze sweep the room.

Alfred did not know what he was thinking as he examined his peers and countrymen, nor did he know how this impromptu speech would end, but already he was giving Alfred a greater gift than he likely knew. For with such glowing praise, surely the Mercian Witan would be better disposed to Alfred and therefore to whoever he supported for the Throne. He wondered briefly what had caused such devotion, but decided that it was no matter, only that it existed.

“Lord, it is because of Aethelred that we have been humiliated in front of the Danes. The Lord tells a tale of his participation in the negotiation for the ransom for the Lady Aethelflaed. He claims to have had equal power there and done equal work as the Lord Uhtred, and yet that is not what his men whisper in dark corners. It is not what the men of Wessex speak of openly in the streets of Winchester. In fact, the only man among their company who supports Aethelred’s claim is his man, Aldhelm. The men, of both Mercia and Wessex, tell the tale of a proud Lord who was made to kneel and then dealt a single blow that put him to sleep for so long that he awoke only after the negotiations were complete. They tell a story of a Lord who was stripped naked, thrown in with the pigs, and, when he awoke, was made to sit, still bare and covered in pig shit, at Sigefrid's table to eat dinner. All of this while Lord Uhtred completed the task that they were sent there for. All of this while Lord Uhtred relinquished not one inch of his power, his dignity, or the honor of Wessex. You might claim that being overpowered by a Dane with a single blow could have happened to any man. And yet, it did not happen to Lord Uhtred of Coccham, who was not made to kneel and, from what I know of him, would never have allowed himself to be struck a blow that powerful in the first place. I find this tale particularly troubling, Lords, for the vast difference in behavior, both between Uhtred and Aethelred and between Aethelred’s accounting and the soldier’s accounting. I for one would like to know the truth of it.”

Aethelred shot to his feet, hands fisted, and Aldhelm shifted uneasily. “These are slanderous lies, all of them!”

“Are they? Well, we shall have there right of it.” Alfred stood once more, nodding to the young Mercian Lord, and called, “Father Pyrlig?” The priest stepped forward. “Father, you were at these negotiations?”

Pyrlig nodded, jaw clenching as though surpassing a smile. “I was, Lord.”

“Tell me, tell us all, which version of these events is the true one. Speak plain and true, for you stand before two Witans and beneath the eyes of God.”

Pyrlig arched an eyebrow and spoke, “Well, in Lord Aethelred’s defense, the Dane who struck him was a veritable mountain of a man. As big or bigger than your Steapa or Uhtred’s Clapa and nearly twice as wide. Certainly, a single blow from a man that size would undoubtedly knock out most men, though perhaps not Lord Uhtred who would never have stood still for such a blow to land as Lord Aethelred did.” Pyrlig pursed his lips and Alfred could see the mirth in his eyes.

“But the Ealdorman’s account is, at its bone, correct?” Alfred should not be delighting in this. He would likely need to see the priest at the close of the Witan to confess his sins, but for now, there was more yet to do. 

Pyrlig nodded. “Yes, Lord King. It was. Aethelred was indeed made to kneel, knocked out with a single blow, stripped and left among the pigs. When he awoke, he was barely allowed to wrap in a short cloak before being made to sit at Sigefrid’s side for dinner. We did complete the negotiations alone. Or without Lord Aethelred anyway. Aldhelm was there as was the remainder of the company.”

“So, by the word of a man of God, it seems that, Lord Aethelred, you have been untrue. You have misrepresented yourself before the Witan and your countrymen. You have lied to benefit yourself and to accrue personal power. What do you have to say to such serious and damning charges against you?” Alfred examined his son-in-law with sharp eyes. “It is a grave sin to lie to the Witan.”

“Oh. A sin, is it, Lord, to lie to the Witan?” Aethelred was feral now, snarling and abandoning all strategy. “If it is, than I am not alone in this sin, am I, Lord?”

“Explain yourself.” Alfred ordered, voice clipped. “If you speak of slanderous rumors again, I will have you removed from these chambers. I refused to hear more nonsense from a man who sleeps in pig shit.”

Aethelred’s eyes were fired with some manic pleasure. “Slanderous, are they? Indeed, but if they are only rumors, Lord, that you lie with the devil, that you entertain Uhtred of Coccham in your private chambers at all hours of the night and day, that you take him to your bed and beg for him to hump you, than why is it that his comings and goings have been witnessed? That your begging has been witnessed?”

“Speak plainly.” Alfred grew tried of making the request, though this time it was an order. He grew tired of whatever Aethelred thought he might be doing, though he did see the danger in it. Many of the Wessex ealdormen were shifting on their feet, uneasy with the accusations.

“Lord Aethelwold himself witnessed Uhtred exiting your bed chambers both late into the night and very early in the morning. He saw it with his own two eyes. And it is said that the Lady Aelswith, your wife, has witnessed the same and worse.”

Alfred went cold, his skin prickling all over and his gut churning. Aethelwold was a coward always and would not stand alone as sole witness to any event, but if his wife were to…He could not guarantee the support of the Witan if his own wife spoke out against his Christian character. And she had, since that night in his bed chambers, taken every private opportunity to remind him of this.

Well, he thought with a detached calm that he barely understood, let her speak first and set the tone. If she held her peace, Aethelwold would too. He blinked and turned to her, his head high. She met his gaze steadily, her own frigid and stark. He saw in it the burning wreckage of all he’d sought to build. He wondered vaguely what would happen to Uhtred when Alfred lost his throne. If the new King of Wessex would be kindly disposed to a pagan taking the north for himself. This was never a complication that he foresaw. “My dear, what do you say to such an accusation? Have you witnessed such untoward behavior?”

Aelswith stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity. Alfred’s gut ached, his eyes burned, and the room spun in lazy circles around him, but he refused to take his eyes from his wife.

After a moment, she stood and turned to stare out at the Witan. She looked proud and regal, every inch the queen that she was, every inch the pious wife who would not suffer such indignity from her husband. She turned to address him directly. “I have not, Lord King.” Alfred nearly sagged where he stood, but forced his body rigid through long practice. “I have seen no intimate relations between the Lord Uhtred and yourself, nor have I seen anything between you in private that would not have been wholly appropriate in public, no behavior that you would not have engaged in in this very room.” 

She turned out to examine the men of the Witan. “Lord Uhtred is an advisor on the ways and beliefs of the Danes. He is a ealdorman of Wessex. He serves the King as any man here does, as the Lord Odda does, as the good father Pyrlig does. And anyone who claims otherwise is seeking to undermine my husband for their own political gain.” As she spoke, her gaze landed on Aethelred and she tilted her head.

He appeared livid and helpless in the face of the Queen’s well-known honesty.

Nausea bubbled up in Alfred’s gut, for once not because of his ailment. It was, rather, a curious mix of elation, relief, and overwhelming guilt, for he had forced Aelswith to lie for him before the Witan. Though, it was in truth no lie, she did not believe that. And still, she had stood before the Witan and lied with all the piety and conviction that she had ever used to speak of him before that night. 

He was humbled by it, by her, and for a brief shining moment, he was filled with hope: that he could repair what he had broken between them, that she would come to trust him once more, and that they could move passed the wound that he had dealt their marriage. And then she turned and met his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Alfred’s soaring hope crashed down around him like the broken corpses of a flock of birds. Aelswith’s eyes said very plainly that she had done it for England and for their son, not for Alfred. He blinked, shuddering his own gaze so that she would not see how deep a wound she left in him, and inclined his head. 

Swallowing the hurt, the soul-crushing pain that lanced through his chest at Aelswith’s constant hatred and accusatory glares, at her pain, Alfred stood tall and turned to Aethelwold. “And you, nephew? What have you seen with your own eyes?” Alfred said, hoping the beat of silence had not lasted too long.

Aethelwold’s skittish gaze jumped around the room, from Aethelred to Aelswith to Alfred and back again, before he shook his head. “I have seen nothing, Lord.”

His voice was petulant, but his words the right ones. Alfred had predicted truly. The Witan broke into murmurs and Aethelred gaped. “You liar! You are a liar! You told me yourself what you had seen. How dare you—“

“This display, Aethelred, is unseemly. Kindly retake your seat and cease your noise or I will have you escorted from this hall.” 

“Lord! If I may?” It was the same young man as before. Alfred nodded to him, curious, and made a note to discover who he was. “This is exactly the behavior that shamed Mercia to begin with. The kind of behavior that makes us weak and childish.”

“I agree with Lord Coenred.” Another man stood, older than Alfred himself with thick waves of white hair, called Ludeca, Alfred thought. “We need someone who is strong and wise and sharp, as King Alfred of Wessex.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow. They spoke of him as though he were not there or as if he were dead.

Coenred shook his head. “No, not quite, Lord Ludeca. We do not need a King who is _like_ Alfred of Wessex. We need a King who _is_ Alfred of Wessex.” A hush fell over the room. Alfred’s entire body seized up in shock. He held his breath, not daring to move even that much, least he break whatever magic was being woven here.

“I would put before the Witan that Alfred is the best among us all now to lead Mercia to a bright future, to glory and to peace in God’s divine grace. His own wife is a Mercian and so he has the council of a true child of Mercia. We could appoint an ealdorman to remain here and sit upon his council, so that he would always know what is in the heart of Mercia. This would forge between our kingdoms an unbreakable bond and allow us both to grow in unity. We are a proud and fierce people, but we are also Christian and thus seek peace wherever we might find it. We seek only prosperity to raise our children, to provide for ourselves and each other, and to praise God.” 

When the young man fell silent, there was a heartbeat of stillness. None of the Lords moved nor spoke. Aelswith and Odda at his back did not so much as shift. And then suddenly, there rose up such a cry that it seemed to ring in the rafters and shake the building to its foundations. Lords of both kingdoms leapt to their feet, cheering and stomping and beating their chests with their fists like soldiers before a battle.

Alfred could not stop his eyes from glossing over with tears. He wished that his brother or his father could be here to see this perfect moment, this long stride toward a unified England. He wished Uhtred could be here, to share in the celebration, to perhaps smile at him with warm eyes and a roguish tilt to his mouth. He wish his daughter was here to see what she had wrought. For it was because of Aethelflaed that this was possible: her stubbornness and her big-hearted love of a pagan man, a Dane.

He thought perhaps he should have taken her lead long ago, but now was not the time for regret. Now was the time for joy.

Alfred held up a hand and the hall fell hushed again. “Lords, you honor me greatly. But surely the Witan would pick someone from within Mercia itself?”

Ludeca stepped forward from the crowd. “I acknowledge that you have brought Alfred, King of Wessex, before this Witan. I ask you all now. Does the Witan object?”

A quiet murmur swept through the hall, but no one raised their voice in objection, not even Aethelred, who had dropped back into his chair with his mouth gaping in shock. 

“Then Alfred, King of Wessex, step forward and take the throne of Mercia, though in spirit only since no one thought to bring the throne itself with us to Wessex.”

The men of the Mercia Witan beat their chest against, a rhythmic pulse of fists against leather, as Alfred stepped down from the dais to walk among the Mercian lords. The lords of Wessex took up the pulse too and soon the room was throbbing with it. In it, Alfred heard the heartbeat of a new kingdom, the heartbeat of England.

“Lords,” Alfred called over the murmuring of the hall. “Before any oaths are sworn, I would like to address the Witan.”

Ludeca nodded and retook his seat. The rest followed, leaving Alfred alone standing in the center of the room. “Lords of Mercia, Lords of Wessex, our kingdoms have for many generations, embraced each other as friends. We have fought together against the Danes. We have bled together and we have prayed together. Let us now embrace each other as brothers, as kin, one family, one people to stand against the great sweeping tide of the unending Viking. I will serve Mercia as I have served Wessex, truly and with my whole heart and all my wit.” The lords cheered briefly before Alfred raised a hand. “But before I can do this, there is another action that I must take. Justice must be done and seen or it is no justice at all.”

Alfred turned to Aethelred and narrowed his eyes. He should not be enjoying this as much as he was, but he could not help it. The man was a snake in the grass, and just as likely to spill poison. Him and Alfred’s nephew alike. But now was not the time to deal with Aethelwold. 

“Aethelred, you have lost your position as interim Lord and I will have your marriage to my daughter annulled. It shall be done this very day. There has been no child and so there is no proof that you have done your husbandly duty. When she is recovered, when she returns to us, you will not have her. You have done a great disservice to your kingdom and to your countrymen. You have lied to this Witan time and again. You have spread false rumor and you have attempted to undermine the power that the Witan has always held. The power to appoint a new king. For these reasons, I hereby banish you from this governing body. You shall hold no title and govern no lands. Return to Mercia at your own peril, for no man will offer you safe passage. Now, go and do not return.”

When it appeared that Aethelred was too stunned to move, Alfred nodded to the guards, who stepped forward to drag the man from the hall. There was another long moment of silence before someone began to chuckle. Soon most of the room was laughing, though Alfred noted who was not, in particular the suddenly pale Aldhelm. 

________________________________

The journey north to Dunholm should have been simple and easy, and in a way, it was. They met no Danes on the road, nor highwaymen. It did not snow nor rain heavily. None of the carriages broke. And yet, Uhtred spent the entire trek in a state of barely controlled, adrenaline-fueled panic. He felt as though at any moment everything he had been working toward, the entire plan that they had crafted, would unravel.

He spent restless nights dreaming of all the ways that it could go wrong: of Beocca discovering Aethelflaed and turning for Winchester to tell the Queen, of one of the men discovering her and taking her to sell to the Danes, of Ragnar refusing him, of all of them dying at Bebbenburg, of Guthred somehow winning in their war against him, and a dozen other ways. But worst of all, the dream that repeated most and sunk stones of revulsion and terror into his guts, was of Alfred dying at Beamfleot or in his bed while Uhtred goes north unaware of his passing. 

Uhtred could not tell if this version of failure was so horrifying because they achieved what they set out to do and failed anyway or because it would mean that Uhtred never got a chance to speak to Alfred again. He could not bear the thought of either. Alfred’s voice in his head, the words of his letter, haunted him. The raw honestly, the insecurity from the usually confident man…He had shone Uhtred his soft underbelly and given Uhtred no chance to respond in kind. It was wretchedly unfair and Uhtred would not trade the ache of it for anything. He’d refolded the letter and tucked it into his armor that first day out, only risking a glance while astride his horse and that only a good couple hours outside Coccham. Gisela had asked him about it and he’d shook his head, shrugged lightly. 

Steapa had frowned at him, looking down at the letter and no doubt recognizing the seal. “I didn’t know you could read, Lord.”

“You as well, Steapa? Is it because I am heathen or is it because I can fight?”

Steapa had shrugged. “Both, likely.”

Uhtred had laughed, tucking the letter away again before reading even half of it because he didn’t trust himself not to react. “I am highborn, you know. My ancestors were Kings in Bernicia. Just because I am a Dane now does not mean that the beginning of my life disappeared.”

Finan, over his right shoulder, snorted. “I’m amazed that you remember any of your Saxon upbringing, Lord. Because it certainly doesn’t seem like it ever existed.”

Uhtred raised an eyebrow and grinned broadly. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.”

Finan burst into delighted laughter. Gisela wrinkled her nose, frowning. Steapa simply stared at him with wide eyes. Father Beocca, however, riding at Finan’s side, might have had the most satisfying reaction. He gasped loudly. “You remember the Lord’s Prayer?” His voice was awed.

Uhtred’s grin did not lessen as he glanced over his shoulder at the priest. “Yes, Father Beocca. Perhaps your pupil was more attentive than you gave him credit for.” Uhtred chuckled. “But you can thank my step mother for that one.”

Beocca blinked. “That’s right. I’d forgotten that she’d wanted you to take holy orders.”

There was a choking noise behind them and then someone clicking to a horse. Hild trotted up along side Gisela, who dropped back shaking her head and muttering something about Freya under her breath. Uhtred laughed at her, but didn’t call attention. 

“I’m sorry. I believe I misheard. Father, did you just say that Uhtred’s mother wanted him to be a _priest_? _Uhtred_?”

Now even Finan was gaping at him. Uhtred snorted. “Yes, he did. My step mother, actually. My mother died giving birth to me. My step mother was very devout. I was not the first son, not born Uhtred of Bebbenburg, and so could not inherit the keep. I had to make my own way. It was her dearest wish that I do that as a priest.”

Finan grinned, leaning forward over his horse’s neck to pat Uhtred on the back. “What would she say if she could see you now?”

Uhtred actually stopped to think about it, the grin fading a little. “Well, Gytha, my step mother, died in my uncle’s bed, birthing him a son, but if she’d survived? What I am would probably have killed her anyway. My father used to call Danes the devil’s turds and Gytha would cross herself and pray, every time they were even mentioned. They were both so frightened. Like all Saxons are, really.”

Hild was frowning, her head cocked as she examined Uhtred’s face. “With good reason, Uhtred.”

He nodded, shrugging again. “I did not say otherwise, but…I think if Danes and Saxons feared each other a little less there would not be so much bloodshed.”

Uhtred could almost feel Finan rolling his eyes at Uhtred’s back, but he didn’t turn. He was serious. His Saxon parents were terrified of Danes and fear made people do horrible things.

“Well. Perhaps, Uhtred, but not all Danes are like you.” Beocca offered in a reconciliatory tone. Uhtred frowned, not taking the priest’s meaning. “What I mean is that…you are a man of honor, Uhtred. You follow Danish customs, but you also show Christian traits: mercy, forgiveness, love.”

Far from being reconciled, this made Uhtred scowl. “Beocca, those are not Christian traits. Christians do not hold the field on love. Christian are in fact more judgmental and quicker to condemn than Danes and so less loving, if you ask me. You are merely as good or as bad as your parents and your own heart made you. Sometimes, that means Christian men commit atrocities and sometimes that means Danes are just and kind. Thinking otherwise simply perpetuates fear and hatred between the tribes. It will do us no favors.” Uhtred stopped frowning around him, looking into their faces and coming to the slow realization that everyone there believed him to be some unique creature, a Saxon Dane. “I am no more or less than what my father, Ragnar the Fearless, raised me to be. I am not unique among Danes.”

Uhtred wanted, desperately, to explain this to them, to show them that he was not an exception to the rule. He wondered how they could still think it after they had all met his brother The Young Ragnar and Sihtric and Gisela. There were others, Uhtred was sure, who would make good examples of Danes with large and welcoming hearts, but his mind was too clouded by frustration to remember them. He shook his head, attempting to push the thoughts away. He supposed there was some benefit to their line of thinking, since it allowed them all to befriend such a monstrous thing as a Dane. There was some bitterness in that thought. 

“If knowing me means that you are more willing to open your hearts to the Danes, I welcome it.” Uhtred said, tightly. “But remember, a Dane and a Viking are two very different creatures. The first wants glory yes, but also a home and trade and silver. The second wants nothing but blood, conquest, and Valhalla.”

Hild frowned. “That is a distinction that you make?”

“It is, Hild. It is a distinction that the Danes make as well.” Uhtred fell silent for a moment, thinking about Alfred, England, the future that they were trying desperately to build, and all the ways that they could fail. “It is important to remember that simply because we cannot see outside ourselves, does not mean there is nothing there to see. Our limits are a horizon to be crested for a better view, not cliffs from which to fall.”

The others digested this, while Uhtred fiddled with the already ragged edge of the letter he’d tucked away and wondered at its contents.


	13. The Letter

Uhtred of Northumbria,

Father Beocca has shared with me that fact that you both read and write, something which you will no doubt be amused to hear both confounds and surprises me. You are so much the warrior that knowing you have a bit of scholar in you is as pleasing as it is jarring. He has indicated that you write a poor hand so I will not expect a reply, but given this opportunity to communicate with you privately, I could not let it pass. The lives we both live are in no way guaranteed. You are a man of action and you are riding into many battles in the days to come. I ride into a battle of my own on the morrow, but I am not so well in body as I pretend to be and there is always a chance that my body will fail me. Though I do pray that no ill befalls either of us before we meet again. 

I will begin with the practical, on the slight chance that your interest in reading does not extend quite so far as my own in writing.

We ride tomorrow against Beamfleot. I believe you are quite correct that it will be simple enough to take. We intend to fire the buildings with arrows and simply wait for the Danes to abandon the fort. I have every confidence that we will succeed quite handily. It is not the battle at Beamfleot that concerns me so much as the aftermath. My son-in-law has been attempting to use the rumors of our relationship against me, to unseat me perhaps or simply whittle away at the power that I yield. He is much the same as Aethelwold in that regard, but slightly less self-aggrandizing and significantly crueler. However, what he does not know is that the Mercian Witan will unseat him from the position he was never confirmed into. He refused to call the full Witan after he returned from Wessex on the trip that his Lord die during. With God’s grace, the new Lord of Mercia will be sympathetic to our cause. 

I do say ‘our’ cause because, Uhtred, you are now embroiled in this fight for England as much as I am. I am pleased to have found in you a formidable ally. I did not think that you would dedicate yourself so thoroughly to it, but I am heartened by it. Kingship is mostly a solitary endeavor. It is good to know that I am not entirely alone in this at least. 

I have received word that a Dane has joined your brother from across the seas, red-haired beast of a man named Cnut who is claiming to be your cousin. There are whispers about him, about his cruelty and dishonor. About his willingness to kill men in their beds, unarmed and therefore unable to enter Valhalla. And the fact that I am even willing to mention such nonsense shows exactly how serious it is. I assume that Jarl Ragnar will not believe mere whispers, but I have been told that some believe Cnut to have killed his father this way in order to take his position and his men. Interesting to note that Cnut is the second son. His elder brother is conveniently missing and has been for some time. Be wary of him, Uhtred, for he is cunning and without scruples. I should not like to hear that you have been murdered in your bed, because Cnut saw you as a threat. 

In addition to the threat of Cnut, there is a man amassing warriors and soldier in southern Wales: Sigurd, known as Bloodhair. He was traveling with a woman who claimed to be a sorceress and the two committed all manner of atrocities across the Mercian and Northumbrian borders. However, during a stop in a church at Repton, she was slain by a priest. By all reports, Bloodhair went mad with grief and now seeks the systematic and total elimination of Christians everywhere. He is moving north and east, I believe to Dunholm. I do not know his intensions specifically. Everyone I’ve spoken with on the matter is afraid. Not of Bloodhair, but of his witch, Skade, and what she may still be able to do from beyond the grave. And possibly, what Bloodhair will do in want of her. I do not believe that he will reach your brother before you, but likely soon after. If there is a gracious way to refuse him entrance, I would do so. He is…at best unstable and at worst, completely insane.

That is, for now, the extent of my politics. At some point, we will need to discuss what is to be done about Coccham. I do not foresee you willingly or gladly relinquishing it, but perhaps something can be done about that. That is for the future, what future there might be. 

But if there is no future in which we meet again, if these are to be the last things I ever tell you, I would like them to mean something. I would like, most of all, for you to know that you have meant something to me. 

There is a chronicle being written, of my reign, of the formation of England and of what has happened here in Wessex since the moment the crown was placed upon my head. It is a beautiful thing, gold gilding and drawings done with much skill, a song of a sort so that my name will be remembered for centuries to come, preserved within its pages. 

What will not be preserved, even when you fulfill your word and unite Northumbria, will be that Alfred did stand upon Uhtred’s shoulders many times, though I know it to be true. I have mistreated you in the past, undervalued and mistrusted you. I know you are aware of this because you have complained of it often, insolent in all things. The chronicle will not, as I have not, talk of your bravery, your loyalty, your advice, your courage, and that endearing insolence. None of it will be any less real for being erased from those pages, but given this opportunity, I could not let it go unwritten. 

Uhtred, you have, since the moment I met you, been a true friend to me. You challenge me. You push me to think beyond the narrow scope of my own perception. You teach me what it means to be steadfast, loyal, dedicated, devout. For all that you are a heathen, you are still one of the best men I have ever had the good fortune to encounter and it is because of you that I wear this crown. It is because of you that I am the man that I am. 

I have both loved and despised you in the past. But now, at the moment of parting, when I may never see you, speak with you again, I find that any anger or hatred I might once have felt fades. I am left only with love and with the overwhelming pain of loss. I shall miss you, my dearest friend, as a half misses that which makes it whole. 

If you could give me one last promise, one last hope for me to cleave to in the months or years ahead, promise me this: that you know that you are loved, that you will take this knowledge and wrap it around your heart and use it as a shield against any loneliness or grief to come. 

I will not ask that you remember me fondly, for I do not know whether you look or have looked on me fondly in our whole acquaintance. I would not deserve you to have done so. I will not ask for sentiment in return, though I ache to hear it. I will not even ask that you think of me at all.

But know that, here, in the very center of Wessex, there is a man who is weak of heart and frail of body, but who loves you very well indeed.

I wish you all of God’s speed, every possible grace, and good luck in all you do.

Alfred, King of Wessex


	14. Chapter 14

That first evening, they erected several tents for the womenfolk, which Uhtred finally noticed included Sihtric’s new wife, Ealhswith. He made a mental note to check in with her at some point or to ask Gisela to do it. He was too weary to even think about it just then. His bones ached. His eyes and belly burned. He felt every single year of his life in a way he had never experienced before. He wondered vaguely is this was how Alfred felt all the time. 

The day had been pleasant enough, but for the constant surges of battle nerves, the kind that always soured his guts, but with no hope of the battle calm to follow. Every time he caught sight of Eadric, it hit him again. It would all be so much simpler if he could just tell more people: Hild, Beocca, Osferth, Thyra, Clapa, Rypere…But he knew the risk was too great. He trusted his people with his life and with his family, but if word got out that Aetheflaed travels with them…He truly did not even wish to contemplate what might happen. Nothing good for any of them, of that he was certain. 

So, he endured his soured stomach and his jittery muscles and the extra effort it took to keep his horse calm when it could sense his disquiet, and at the end of the day, he dragged himself to his bed and prayed to whoever might be listening, to Thor and Freya and Odin, that tomorrow would be easier. He knew that his prayers would go unanswered, until they reached Dunholm. Instead of his usual next of furs on the ground, he was greeted with a tent, which he was apparently sharing with Gisela and about which he had absolutely no say.

Finan and Osferth were never letting him hear the end of that, but Gisela insisted and he never refused her anything it was within his power to give. So, the end of first watch found him creeping into their tent and attempting to shed his armor as quietly as possible. Gisela didn’t stir in the nest of furs and blankets she had arranged. 

He wanted nothing more than to crawl under his furs and sleep, but he had not finished reading Alfred’s letter. A candle burned on a small crate that she had placed beside the furs and Uhtred took it as permission or encouragement.

The practicality of the opening left him unprepared for the ending. He had never heard Alfred speak with such raw emotion, such doubt, and such incredible kindness as he did in that letter. Unbidden and unwanted, Uhtred’s eyes welled and the tears spilled over. The sorry little ache that had plagued him since his last departure from Winchester suddenly roared to life. He had not realized the depths of his feelings for Alfred and so was unprotected in the face of them. Hate, he’d known and would welcome now. Respect, Alfred had certainly earned, and a strong surge of friendly affection, like he might feel for Sihtric or Clapa. But underlying it all was a well of some impossible thing, black with its depth and as wide as the Nordse. He did not understand it for it was like nothing he’d ever felt before, but as he read Alfred’s letter, it opened up a chasm inside his chest, formed from terror and grief and rage and an aching desire for the intimacy which he had thus far been denied. Not humping, though Uhtred would, if very very drunk and in a giving mood, admit that humping Alfred had always been a desire of his, but only in the darkest, moonless night, and only to his wife. 

No, what Uhtred truly wanted was the closeness of pressing his forehead to Alfred’s, of sharing breath and feeling his pulse, the warmth of a lingering embrace and the safe cocoon of Alfred’s bed chamber, where they would not be interrupted nor overheard should either say anything that should not be said. 

Alfred’s declaration gave him a word for that vastness in his heart: love. But of a kind no other could touch. It was a soul’s love, a connection so fundamental that nothing would break it. The Irish have a word, _shíorghrá_ , that Uhtred had also sometimes heard as _anamghrá_ , which according to Finan is a kind of eternal love, a binding of two souls. 

But such a love does not form in an instant. How had Uhtred not noticed it before? When had it began and how had it spread? How had he allowed himself to betray Gisela this way? And yet, he loved her still, just as he had always done, separate and apart from what he felt for Alfred. He still wanted her, desperately, with every breath he took, and would stay by her side, would forsake all others, for her until the day he died.

And yet, there was the aching need in him, for intimacy with Alfred, for connection and assurance, for something that his soul could cling to. But unlike his desire for Gisela, this need burning in him would be denied, left to wither and rot. Would it corrupt, a wound left untended too long, or would it simply die quietly inside him and take some part of him with it to the grave? 

Now, he would not even have Alfred’s distant mask, not for months or years. The very thought felt crushing, too heavy to bear, too wide for his shoulders. He would fall under its weight, collapse into the dirt, wither to nothing there. 

A sob wrenched from him. 

Why had Alfred done this to him? Why offer him such pretty words on the day of his leaving and with no means of responding? He wanted to hate the man for it, but could not.

When a second sob shuddered through him and the gaping blackness in his chest seemed ready to swallow him whole, Uhtred found himself wrapped in warm, gentle arms and pulled down into nest of bedding. “Shhh. My love, take heart. You will see your Alfred again. You are not alone nor abandoned. I will stay by your side until my last breath.”

Uhtred’s pain, rather than being lessened by her promise, increased twofold at the thought that Gisela was seeing him behave this way over someone else. He wept, freely now, hot tears scalding his skin. Shame soured his stomach again and spread out until all his flesh burned with it. “Gisela—“

“Uhtred, I understand. I do. The spinners have bound you two together very tightly, and with good reason.” 

But Uhtred shook his head, burying his face into her neck whispering to her promises of his fidelity, of his devotion to her, of his steadfastness. Promises that were not lies, but also were not whole truths. He could feel her smile against his own neck. “Gisela, Gisela, you must know that I love you. I love you from now until Valhalla or beyond. I love you as the fire loves the air.”

“Of course, my love, as I love you. But loving me does not prevent you from loving Alfred too. It is merely a different love, suited to a different purpose, and for a different time. Here, now, there is only us, so fold that away very carefully and come to bed.” Her voice, though kind, was firm, and so he had no choice but to obey.

_____________________________

The day after the Witan that made him King of Mercia as well, Alfred called Coenred to the library. He was curious about the lord who’d made him king, suspicious and wary. The man bowed deeply when he entered and Alfred found that even more curious. There was something about him that struck Alfred, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. 

“My Lord King.” Coenred said, voice deferential and quiet in the empty room.

“Lord Coenred, I am pleased that you answered my request so promptly. I would like us to sit for a while and discuss Mercia. There is much I will need to know and much I am interested in.” Alfred watched him closely as he smiled and nodded.

His enthusiasm seemed genuine. “Yes, Lord. It would be my pleasure. I will try to answer any questions to the best of my abilities.”

Alfred inclined his head in acknowledgment and wave the man into a chair at the table. “May we begin with why you felt the King of Wessex to be the best candidate to hold your throne?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man blinked and averted his eyes for the briefest beat, but Alfred saw it. He wondered at it. A tic? Nervousness? Or was it a tell? Was the man about to lie?

“You are easily the most powerful Saxon on this continent, Lord. If anyone could protect Mercia from the Bastard Danes, it would be you.” 

Alfred digested this. Flattering, obviously, but there was a visceral darkness beneath the tone he used to say _Bastard Danes_ , like a filthy title or a curse. There was something happening here that Alfred was not aware of and that always made him uneasy, and cautious. What exactly was it that this ealdorman was seeking to build? “I will protect Mercia to the best of my abilities, but Mercia will also protect herself.”

Coenred’s head jerked, as though he wanted to shake it, but checked the movement at the last moment. “Lord, Mercia is weak and disorganized. We have barely begun to recover from the ruin that Burghred and his capitulation to the Viking Army left us. I do not know that we are able to protect ourselves.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes, an image beginning to resolve itself. “I imagine your father was with the army when Burghred, Aethelred my brother, and I met with the Danes, was he not?” The man nodded, averting his eyes again, but for longer this time. “Burghred was…not capable of leading then, and not capable of fighting the Great Dane Army. That day, we met with the Earls was the end of Burghred’s reign as King of Mercia. He remained a puppet after that until he fled to Rome.”

The man looked back at him, eyes wide, and nodded. “Indeed, Lord. Burghred was spineless and he abandoned us to be pillaged by the Danes. One of those bastards killed my mother. I was little more than a child and they slit her throat right in front of me.”

Alfred frowned at this. A horrible story, surely, but how had the boy survived it to take his place as ealdorman so many years later? The Danes had two methods with which they treated people in conquered villages and towns. Uhtred had explained that everyone they encountered would either be killed or taken, usually to be sold. Uhtred himself had been lucky to impress Ragnar the Fearless, otherwise it would have been his head.

Alfred pushed the thought away violently, not even wishing to consider it. But, in doing so, Uhtred’s voice echoed in his head, _They never kill everyone. The Danes will always leave one person alive to tell of the horrors they have committed. To witness._

Perhaps this young lordingly had been their witness? Something sat poorly in Alfred’s gut about the situation, but he needed more time and more information before he could pinpoint what it was. Instead, he let the matter lay and asked the ealdorman about border skirmishes, which apparently had been frequent, and grain routes.

The conversation took most of the afternoon, so Alfred waited until evening to retreat to the small chapel. He knelt at the altar and, constantly aware of being overheard, began to pray silently. He prayed for strength to face the challenges of the plan he’d crafted. He prayed for a gentling of Aelswith’s heart. Being at odds with her was an isolating experience, especially when he had lost his chief confessor. But mostly, he prayed for God to protect Uhtred and Aethelflaed on their journey north. 

His knees ached and the sun had disappeared below the horizon, when he finally levered himself up off the floor. When he turned to leave, he was shocked to see his wife seated upon one of the pews. She shifted sideways enough for him to sit down, but said not word.

His heart in his throat, Alfred took the silent invitation. It was the closest he’d been to his wife since that night. “My dear.” He murmured, voice low.

She said nothing for a moment, simply breathing and staring at the cross over the altar. He waited and waited, but finally despaired of her talking to him. He shifted, preparing to stand and give her the space she obviously wanted. 

The rustle of his clothes must have shaken her from her contemplation, because it was only then that she spoke. “Alfred, we have been married many years.” She paused and he did not interrupt. “We have gone through many challenges together and I have forgiven you many sins. I forgave your dalliances with the servant girls in your youth, which produced at least one child that I know of. I forgave your giving our infant son over to a witch to be healed. I forgave you for allowing both of our children to grow so fond of a heathen. It is possible that in the fullness of time, that I will learn how to forgive you for this latest sin, though I do strongly doubt it. Until then, I will not share your bed. I will not share your company, unless it is for a reason. We will no longer have private meals in your chambers or mine. I will never again set foot in your chambers, if I can help it. Your purpose remains noble, even if your heart does not. I will assist you in any way that I can in rebuilding England, in forming a single kingdom under God ruled by a single King. It is God’s plan and we will see it done. But other than that I will not do.”

Alfred swallowed around a painfully constricted throat and nodded. “Aelswith, I need you to know that I love you. I know that you doubt it. I know that you doubt everything I say to you now, but it is not a lie. I love you and I never meant to hurt you. I am deeply sorry that I did.”

Aelswith laughed, a harsh, scraping thing that seemed to burst from her unwillingly. “You continue hurting me with every breath that you take, Lord King. You sullied our marriage bed with the man that I despise most in the world, a heathen Dane, a bloodthirsty murderer who kills priests without a thought. You should have left him on that slave ship to die. You should have run him through with a sword the moment he arrived at Winchester. You should have had him executed a hundred times over. But instead…instead of seeing justice done, you took him to bed and let him hump you. Do not talk of remorse, Lord, for nothing will ever be enough to close the wound that you have left in me.”

Alfred felt frozen, his lips parted on an exhale that he had no more breath for. He could not move, though every inch of him screamed to take her hand, to tell her the truth and take away her pain. The success of their plan was not worth the hurt that it was causing to Aelswith, surely?

Alfred’s mouth snapped shut and, released from his stupor, he turned back to the crucifix hanging from the eaves. They were committed and he had no choice, but to hold firm to the plan. Aelswith’s pain, like Alfred’s own, was payment for the England that would arise around them because of it. 

After a moment, Alfred rose and left the chapel. There was nothing more to be said or done. His lie had broken his marriage, but it was worth the cost that they were paying. He had to believe it or he feared that he might crumble away to dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm catching up to myself so it'll likely be a couple of days between posts now, so I can write them and then re-read them.
> 
> I would love any feedback you guys want to give :) And thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

Ferreting out the limits of the power that had been gifted to him by the Lords of Mercia and striking a balance with his newly enlarged Witan took up almost all of Alfred’s time and attention in two weeks or so following the battle at Beamfleot. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, Alfred spent the time tracking Uhtred’s journey to Dunholm, which would take twice as long because of the carts for the women and children and supplies. Not to mention the six score men Alfred had managed to slip him, unnoticed or unremarked on by anyone in Winchester. Or mostly unnoticed. He often found Aelswith frowning at the place where Steapa usually stood, no doubt curious at his prolonged absence. In another time and place, she would have sought him out and demanded an explanation or she wouldn’t have had to because he would have told her already. 

They no longer lived in the time or that place. The present and the future were both a mess of lies, betrayals, hatred, and mistrust. It made Alfred weary just to think about. It made him, in a secret place deep in his soul, long for Uhtred and his blunt speech. Uhtred, Alfred firmly believed, had never lied to him. 

Though, that was where the fantasy fell apart, because Alfred had frequently lied to Uhtred. But, he vowed silently that day Uhtred had left Winchester for the final time, no more. He would not lie to Uhtred again, not unless lives depended on it. Alfred shook his head and pushed the thought away. He would have no opportunity to test his resolve unless he saw Uhtred again, which was in no way assured.

To that end, he recommitted his focus on the task of knitting Wessex and Mercia together into one kingdom and attempted to forget about Uhtred Ragnarson, Lord of Bebbenburg. He made this commitment almost daily and yet by evening, he was back at the maps in his bed chamber tracing the track that he knew they would take and wondering how far they had pushed that day. 

It was an obsession, something he could not help no matter how much he prayed on it or resolved to resist it. Worse still, it was the only comfort he was afforded in those long weeks. For there was no comfort in the discussions with Mercia — that road was long and would take months, if not years, to tread before the kingdoms could be truly united — and there was no comfort from his wife — she had, as she promised, ceased to speak with him of things that were not concerning the crown or their children — and of course there was no comfort in confession because Father Beocca had gone.

It was on the day that Uhtred was likely to have arrived at Dunholm that Alfred finally could take no more and called Father Pyrlig to his library. He dismissed the monks and scribes and put guards a little ways down both halls to block the doors. Father Pyrlig watched him with deep concern, but did not comment.

“Father, I find myself troubled, but wary of speaking this trouble aloud, for there are many, many ears in this palace and the chance of someone listening at doors is strong.” Alfred said, turning his back to the priest and pacing to the far window.

Pyrlig tucked his thumbs into his belt and followed. “Lord, you will not rest easy until your burden is shared, but why do you not share it with your wife? Surely the two of you may find privacy for that?”

Alfred laughed, a bitter sound even in his own ears. “I am afraid that Aelswith and I are…no longer able to shoulder each other’s burdens.”

Pyrlig frowned and stepped up closer in order to lower his voice. “I do not take you meaning, Lord.”

Alfred sighed and turned his gaze out the window at the bustling city below. He would not take Pyrlig deeper into his confidence than he had taken Beocca and so part of this unburdening would be another lie. Although, Alfred thought with a near hysterical bubble of something edging its way up his throat, the lie felt more and more everyday like a long buried truth.

“You will remember the rumors that Aethelred aired at the Witan after the Victory at Beamfleot?” He asked.

Pyrlig nodded, his eyebrow jumping up his forehead. “I do, Lord.”

Alfred took a steadying breath. “I did not know that he would bring those whispers before the Witan and was not prepared for it, but Aelswith is loyal to England above all things and Aethelwold is a coward before he is a threat.”

Pyrlig frowned, searching Alfred’s face. Alfred stared back steadily and let himself be examined. “Are you suggesting, Lord, that the lady Aelswith and the lord Aethelwold both…” He dropped his voice to near a whisper, impossible to be overheard from outside the room. “That they both lied to the Witan?”

Alfred did not move, to nod or shake his head. He said not a word, simply stared back at Pyrlig, whose frown deepened. “My god.”

“So you see why my lady wife is no longer someone to share my burdens.”

Pyrlig’s eyes fluttered in a series of stunned blinks before they widened. “So the rumors are true, then? You were having an affair with Uhtred, Lord?”

“That…” Alfred hedged. “is a complicated question.”

Pyrlig narrowed his eyes. “Is it, Lord? Or is it merely a question that you do not wish to answer out loud? Did Father Beocca know, before he left?”

Alfred nodded. “Indeed he did. He rode out to confront Uhtred about it the very moment that Aelswith told him.”

The priest frowned again. “And now he rides north with Uhtred to see his brother? That seems a strange course of action.”

Alfred huffed a quiet laugh. “It is not. I sent him with a letter and told him to stay.”

Which was not, of course, a lie.

Pyrlig nodded, slowly, obviously considering this. Finally he asked, “And is the trouble that you wish to share to do with all this?”

Alfred sighed, beginning to regret this course he’d chosen. He should have simply kept his mouth shut and carried his burden alone. “Simply put, Father Pyrlig, I am without a confidante. I have no one with whom I can speak on personal matters and, as you are friends with Uhtred I believe, I thought perhaps you might be willing to…Never mind. It was foolishness.” 

He could not even find words for what he’d wanted from the priest. Someone to share his pain with? Someone who grieved with him? Simply an ear to listen? He was not sure and therefore could not ask for it.

“Lord, I would consider Uhtred as a friend. He is a good man and has a large heart, Lord. I would speak with you about him and share your burden with you. I can see, in your face and in your eyes, that…more than a mere affair, you love him.”

Alfred exhaled sharply, his hands fisting at his sides. Abruplty, he was so very angry. “Can everyone tell this simply by seeing me think of him? Am I so transparent that I cannot hide that which others should not see?”

Pyrlig shook his head. “No, Lord. I have seen and heard you speak of Uhtred in the hall and in the throne room with no affection at all. With disdain and no small amount of bile even. But you are tired, Lord, and you know that I will not condemn you for your feelings, nor share them with others.”

And just like that, all the anger fled and Alfred sagged a little. “You are right, Father Pyrlig, as always. I do not mean to snap.”

“I understand, Lord. Grief can be a heavy burden and to carry it alone causes great pain. Come. Let us sit and I will tell you of the time that Uhtred’s cleverness and keen observation saved my life.” 

They took their seats at the long table, a strange prickle of excitement running across Alfred’s flesh. It was not a tale that he had heard before, though he suspected it occurred during Uhtred and Aethelred’s trip into Lunden, and he was eager for it. For anything that he did not already know of Uhtred. He thought, perhaps, he should be shamed by his need to know, by his burning desire to possess every scrap he could of Uhtred, but it had always been thus, since the moment that he had seen Uhtred across the courtyard. He had been struck, then, by this figure in furs and leather who stood like a warrior and moved like a wild thing, but looked just hardly a man, still flush with the joy of youth. He had wondered then how old Uhtred was and had dismissed the thought because it had been obvious that he had only just grown into his body and his manhood.

Which was not to say that he appeared in any way childlike, but there was an exuberance about him, an eagerness for life, that usually falls from a man the moment he stands shoulder to shoulder with others and resolves to die on a battlefield. What Alfred did not know then was that Uhtred had already done that, had already stood in his first shield wall, and already killed two dozen men or more. What he didn’t yet know was that exuberance and eagerness were merely part of who Uhtred was and had yet to leave him, though he had lost the last softness of youth years before, hardened instead by battle and burden both, by slavery and the lash and Alfred’s own mistrust which had dealt its own blows. 

Alfred shook his head and turned his attention to Father Pyrlig, who was waiting patiently for him to focus back on the present. 

“Well,” the priest began. “When you sent me to Aethelstan in East Anglia, I ended up in Lunden…”

__________________________________

Uhtred spotted the scouts well before he spotted the towering walls of the fort at Dunholm and so knew that his brother would be prepared for their arrival. He wondered briefly if Cnut or Bloodhair would already be inside, but pushed the thought away. He would know soon enough and there was no point in worrying now. 

But the Three Spinners forever toyed with him and never had they allowed a plan of his to unfold so smoothly. Which meant that no matter how much or how often he tried to talk himself out of his worry, it never retreated. It merely threaded through his thoughts like smoke, heavy and exhausting. It chased away both sleep and appetite. He hid it as best he could, which was itself an exhaustion, but only Gisela and Finan seemed aware of his unease. Both attempted to calm him, to help, to give him back the confidence that seemed to have fled him, but how could he relax when so much rested on his success?

He was pulled from his gloomy thoughts by Osferth, who rode up alongside him on the narrow path where he’d been riding in advance of the company. Uhtred glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and exhaled, but did not speak. He’d been waiting for Osferth to confront him on any number of things since before they left. It would be a relief to have it done with. He only hoped that whatever lies he’d need to tell wouldn’t damage his relationship with the baby monk beyond repair.

“Lord.”

Uhtred snorted, his stomach twisting. “Say it, Baby Monk. Whatever is on your mind, say it.”

Osferth chewed his lip a moment. When he spoke his voice was quiet, but strong and unwavering. “They say that Eadric is your son from before the Lady Mildrith. That he was whelped on a peasant girl at Winchester.”

Uhtred turned to glance at him fully, but said nothing. He had not heard that particular version of the story yet and wondered at its specificity. There was nothing that he could pinpoint that would have given Winchester for Eadric’s origin, since the boy did not speak. Perhaps because it was where he’d been most recently? He gave up on his wondering as it was pointless, and focused on Osferth.

“Lord, he is not old enough to have been made before you wed the Lady Mildrith. He is a boy, hardly more than twelve or thirteen.”

Uhtred bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing at the expression that would surely grace Aethelflaed’s face to hear that she looked like a twelve year old boy. Osferth would not have taken it kindly, as Uhtred could see how very close to home this hit for him, whatever this was. 

At least, Uhtred thought sobering, he wasn’t asking about Uhtred’s supposed affair with his father. Yet.

Osferth, unaware of the track Uhtred’s thoughts had followed, scowled and pressed on. “And he is not young enough to have been made after your lady wife went to the nunnery.”

Uhtred sighed, beginning to see where this would end. “Make your accusation, Baby Monk.”

He wondered briefly if this plan of theirs, with all its attendant falsehoods, would destroy every aspect of his reputation by its end and if it would be worth it, if it did.

“If the betrayal was not of Lady Gisela, Lord, I do not understand why Eadric must be kept from her and the other children.” 

They had finally arrived at the crux of the matter. Uhtred could see why this would trouble him. Osferth, who was himself a bastard, had been sent away, excluded from his father’s life and taken from his mother to be raised in a monastery. The thought soured in Uhtred’s stomach, making it ache. Osferth may not have been with them long, but he had managed to worm his way into everyone’s hearts. Uhtred would not wish this pain on him. 

“Osferth, it is not that he is a bastard. If he had been my trueborn son, my poor dead boy who Mildrith birthed, he would still not be traveling with the children. He is not Gisela’s and so not her responsibility. If he had been younger, perhaps, but twelve is certainly old enough to begin training to be a warrior. Mute he might be, but helpless he will not. I was his age when I first took up a staff to train.”

Osferth’s eyes had widened as he spoke and there was such a wealth of emotion in them that Uhtred looked away, turning forward again to give Osferth some privacy.

“Marriage is a nonsense.” Uhtred said, staring out over the road they trod. “It serves two purposes only: to convey wealth and to prevent others from taking what is not theirs. Remember that I am neither Christian nor Saxon and so all my children are the same to me. They are all mine, whether they were made in the marriage bed or not.” He arched an eyebrow at the baby monk. “If there is only one thing of me that you remember all your life, Osferth, let it be this: I am a Dane.”

Osferth exhaled, long and slow, before he nodded. He seemed lighter now and the heartbreak that had hidden in his eyes since before they left had lessened, though not vanished completely. Nor would it, Uhtred, suspected, until the rumors of Uhtred’s affair with the king grew quiet. “Yes, Lord. I…sometimes, I forget.” 

They rode in silence for a time. Uhtred spent it watching for more scouts and for smoke enough to mean that Dunholm was close. The slow, plodding pace at which they traveled had done nothing for his jitters. He wished to arrive so that they might make their plans and ride out to Bebbenburg. The sooner they could complete their tasks, the sooner Uhtred might abandon some of the pretenses. 

When it become clear that Osferth would not ask another question, Uhtred relaxed a fraction, settling more firmly into his seat. He was surprised that the baby monk had not pressed him for answers about his father, but Uhtred knew that Osferth disliked speaking of him. And he no doubt sensed that he would get nothing on the topic anyway. Either way, Uhtred was grateful for it. “We should be in view of the fort before the sun hits its peak.” He said, eventually.

Osferth glanced up at the sky, obviously gauging how long that would be. “Will we stay at Dunholm long, Lord?”

Uhtred shook his head, eyes still tracing the horizon. “With any amount of luck, no. We will not. I hope to stay a week at most. Just enough time to refresh the men and organize our attack before we ride on to Bebbenburg.”

Osferth nodded and excused himself to check on the carts. Well, Uhtred thought wryly, that is one less thing to be concerned over. It was small comfort, considering what faced him, what faced them all in the days ahead, but he would take what comforts he could. The next hurdle, he suspected, would be Ragnar. He would need to convince his brother to join with him and somehow sidestep the issue of Alfred, for he would not tell Ragnar who Aethelflaed was. He has instructed Erik stay silent on the matter and so must have faith that he would comply. 

Maybe he should pray to Loki that Ragnar had simply not heard the rumors that he was sleeping with the King of Wessex…Ragnar, who had once told him that Alfred cared for him. He sighed and wondered if perhaps this was all Loki’s fault to begin with. It seemed like something he would do.

He reached up to touch the hammer at his throat, forgetting that he would find only bare skin, and prayed for strength and maybe a little luck.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone has prompts, my brain is eating itself over these two dorks, so send them along. Check my profile for a list of nopes.


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